


The Lost and the Hidden City

by BronxWench, pippychick



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Bondage, Exhibitionism, Graphic Description, M/M, Male Slash, Oral Sex, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-20
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-08-16 09:58:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 82,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8097745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BronxWench/pseuds/BronxWench, https://archiveofourown.org/users/pippychick/pseuds/pippychick
Summary: Glorfindel was the elf Gildor had always wanted, but Glorfindel never looked his way. Then Gondolin fell, and Glorfindel was lost, while Gildor sought refuge among his fellow Exiles. He found a measure of peace at last in Imladris, at least until Glorfindel returned. When Glorfindel became his lover, Gildor thought he had it all.But the Valar had not brought Glorfindel back without memories, many painful and terrifying. Gildor could not watch his lover suffer, and so he set off to find the answers Glorfindel needed, no matter the cost to himself.Updates posted weekly. Next Update: 21st February - Ao3's policy of blaming authors for abuse they receive means that this story will not be continued here. Please look to: http://lotr.adult-fanfiction.org/story.php?no=600081677 Thank you.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** We do not own Middle Earth, any of Tolkien's world or the characters. We make no money from the work of fanfiction.
> 
>  **Authors' Note:** BronxWench says hello, and that she is very much alive :) This is our first collaboration! We hope you enjoy...

 

 

## **The Lost and the Hidden City**

 

Chapter One

All along he had been aware there was something different about Glorfindel. There was a kind of brooding about him, behind the jokes and the bravado. It was this that made Gildor stay behind in the Hall of Fire, until the last of their companions had left. The minstrels’ instruments lay abandoned on chairs, and Gildor lounged back on a settee, watching his old friend.

Glorfindel stood before the fire, goblet in his hand, contemplating the flames as if to ensure they did not leap out at him. It made Gildor think of the sacrifice Glorfindel had made, and yet he was far more curious about home. Glorfindel had been back there.

“I missed you, over these long centuries. As you have seen, this world has changed so much the old maps mean nothing.” Glorfindel startled at his words, and his ready smile was just a little too quick, aided no doubt by the miruvor he had consumed.

“I had not noticed. The changes, that is.” Glorfindel’s smile did not reach his eyes, and his fingers tightened around his goblet. “I missed you as well, you know.” The long years settled into the tightness around his eyes as the warrior returned to his contemplation of the fire.

It was clear Glorfindel would make Gildor drag the words from him, despite the miruvor. “I am surprised you have not marked them. I did not think you would overlook the advantages of knowing where trouble might lurk.” He laughed to take any sting from his words. “I am no tactician to be offering advice. It just seemed curious how this world changes. I do not remember such a thing happening when I was younger.”

Having spoken, Gildor closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the cushions. He was relaxed. It was not only Glorfindel who had indulged in the liquor of Imladris.

“When we were young,” Glorfindel said, and Gildor could hear the smirk in his voice. “When we were young nothing did change. The elves were settled, and we did not dream of this place.” As he spoke he moved, and Gildor felt Glorfindel settle on the cushioned seat next to him. Gildor could feel the heat of the warrior’s thigh, not quite touching his, a kind of yearning, tickling sensation.

“More recent things...” Glorfindel mused. “I forget...” He sounded uncharacteristically uncertain, but then suddenly a heavy warm palm came to rest upon Gildor’s leg. He snapped his eyes open, looking down as Glorfindel squeezed his leg. When he looked up, he had the impression that Glorfindel was looking for some kind of confirmation.

“Whatever it is, you have only to ask.” He was not accustomed to seeing Glorfindel like this, off balance and unsure. Even in their youth, Glorfindel had led with such bravado, and had laughed away the bruises and scrapes which followed.

And now he found he had lost the trick of reading the true meaning in Glorfindel’s eyes. “Is it so hard, to be here?” The hand on his thigh grew warmer, or was it his own blood heating in response to a touch long desired? Gildor let his hand fall, striving for careless ease, to cover Glorfindel’s hand. Let the touch be interpreted as whatever Glorfindel needed it to be, friendship for certain, and more for the asking.

“I chose to return,” Glorfindel said, with some certainty. Perhaps the look he had given Glorfindel was carelessly inviting, but suddenly there were warm lips upon his, generous and strong. Gildor gasped but did not protest, and after all - how could he? Glorfindel was the one that got away, and now he was back.

Gildor encouraged him, reciprocating until he sensed Glorfindel become suddenly confident, pushing him back into the soft cushions. His left hand was trapped between them, and his right still held his glass. Gildor felt blindly at the side of the settee for the floor to put it down, leaning back further all the time, which must have seemed like wanton encouragement, but Gildor found he did not care.

He had a sudden evocative glimpse of his cries echoing through the Hall of Fire as Glorfindel seduced him, out in the open where anyone might come upon them, perhaps even Elrond’s children. When Glorfindel’s lips moved to his jaw he began to speak, thinking to encourage Glorfindel to hold off long enough for them to retire, but then was silenced when Glorfindel’s lips brushed over his adam’s apple, breath hot and wet, causing a shiver to run through him.

It was ridiculous, an elf of his age and stature, to be found entwined with a lover in this oh so public space like an overeager elfling. Yet Gildor could not seem to think past those soft lips, drifting lower now to savor the hollow of his throat. “ _Ai, Valar,_ ” he groaned, his leggings growing uncomfortably tight. Glorfindel seemed to know every spot which would inflame him, and deft fingers loosened his tunic at the throat to open Gildor to further explorations.

Gildor knew Glorfindel assumed an intimacy between them which had not existed, save in Gildor’s heart. He took advantage now, and he knew it, but it was Glorfindel, so close and so tender, and he had been lonely for so very long. The passing pleasures of a brief flirtation, the embrace of a lover he knew would leave Imladris at the moon’s height, these were all he had allowed himself. He would not risk his heart again, but here he was, doing that very thing. He reached up with his free hand and tangled his fingers in the silk of Glorfindel’s hair.

Gildor had known blond lovers, but none of them were like Glorfindel. They were moonlight and starlight - Glorfindel was like the sun, his hair falling in loose curls that caressed Gildor’s fingers. Sometimes, he had wondered if that was where Glorfindel got his nature.

Now his own tunic was open, and yet instead of feeling Glorfindel’s touch, Gildor could only watch as the warrior straightened up a little and divested himself of his own tunic. That golden hair was present on his chest, leading Gildor’s gaze downward, and against his will he wondered… the thought made something in him twitch eagerly, and he felt his cock thickening, pressing insistently into Glorfindel’s thigh.

To his credit, Glorfindel didn’t even look down, though he could surely feel it. “Will you have it now, or take me back to your room where I can reacquaint myself properly?” Glorfindel asked. Gildor remembered his deceit by omission then, and for the moment that overshadowed even Glorfindel’s arrogance.

“Why are you so sure you would be reacquainting yourself?” Gildor was briefly proud of the steady voice he managed. “You have always been so certain you could have any elf for the asking. I suppose it is an easy assumption, to think you had your way with me as well. But what if I was the one you never noticed?” He felt a small thrill run through him. “What if you were the one who got away?”

Glorfindel frowned, just the faintest suggestion of a crease in his forehead. “Why would I not have noticed you? You are as beautiful now as you were then.” The frown faded, replaced by a familiar smirk. “Come, and lead the way to your room.”

“Maybe I did not want to be just another conquest.” Gildor felt the golden curls slide from his fingers, and he found himself trapped by cerulean eyes, the exact shade of a summer afternoon. “Maybe I wanted it to mean something.” And now he was too close to the truth. He laughed, hoping to distract Glorfindel. “Come. Let me lead the way.”

To his surprise, Glorfindel got up from the settee and set him free, pausing only to scoop up his discarded tunic, scrunching it in his hand. “So you wish to roleplay a first time between us?” he teased merrily. “For my own part, it may as well be true. We shall see if your acting talents are up to the task!”

Gildor could not help smiling at Glorfindel’s gentle teasing; it was impossible not to be infected by it, and he got up too, leading the way out of the Hall of Fire to his rooms quickly, even though he was sure he looked quite ridiculous with his clothes in disarray and his leggings obscenely tented out in front of him. Thankfully, they did not encounter anyone on the way, and he smiled when Glorfindel’s hand reached out to hold his as they walked.

When they were inside his door, Glorfindel threw the tunic he carried to one side, onto the floor. He leaned one hand against the door beside Gildor, shutting it and trapping him at the same time. “Now. Where were we?” Glorfindel pondered with obvious delight. Unwilling to be dominated by Glorfindel’s behaviour, Gildor pushed him back and manoeuvred him to over to the bed.

“You were about to judge my acting ability,” Gildor teased, feeling rather wicked as he followed Glorfindel onto the bed, climbing over to straddle him, looking down on him with a grin. “I have to ask. Do you have a problem with your lovers faking it?”

Glorfindel’s smile was as warm as sunlight. “I do not know, actually. I am quite sure no lover of mine has had to fake it.” He wrapped strong hands around Gildor’s hips, lifting his own hips to grind his cock against Gildor. “You see? I am more than capable of pleasing the most discerning lover.” He was flinging himself into the game wholeheartedly, Gildor decided.

“Ah, but you do not know what pleases me,” Gildor replied. “So, will you know if I am truly enjoying myself, or faking it with enough skill to fool you?”

“A challenge I accept.” Glorfindel shifted his grip, and braced his powerful legs in order to tumble Gildor onto his back. He pinned the darker elf beneath him with a wicked chuckle. “I think I like you better like this.”

Gildor laughed and raised his knees at either side of Glorfindel’s body, placing his feet flat on the mattress. At the same time as he leaned upwards for a kiss, he slid his palms beneath the back of Glorfindel’s waistband to squeeze his buttocks, then moved his hands up in a firm caress over the expanse of the warrior’s back. Glorfindel was well-muscled, his shoulders especially so.

Glorfindel rubbed against him deliberately, and it felt good, all that heat and hardness behind the layers of clothing they still wore. When Glorfindel broke the kiss and made him turn his head, Gildor did not protest, hoping secretly that Glorfindel would continue where he left off in the hall. Instead, Gildor felt teeth nibbling very delicately at the pointed tip of his ear, and he could not keep in the moan.

“That is cheating,” he murmured, his voice softened at the exquisite sensation. It stopped only for Glorfindel to whisper to him, his tickling breath warm and intimate.

“I do not recall you setting any rules. Too late now.”

“I should have known, oh, merciless tease,” Gildor retorted, but it came out more like a purr of longing. “Oh, Eru, right there, you wicked elf.” Pearly teeth were replaced by warm lips, as Glorfindel suckled lightly on his now-rosy eartip. He was quite sure his leggings would give way, unable to contain him for much longer.

Glorfindel’s skin was exquisitely hot beneath his hands, and he took the time to explore the sweep and curve of the warrior’s powerful arms. Arms which wielded a sword as gracefully as a quill, arms he had only ever dreamed would surround him in an embrace. He would not think about the promise of the sword between Glorfindel’s legs, which even now sought to breach his feeble defenses, the leggings straining under his own eager cock.

With a desperate sigh, Gildor grabbed one of Glorfindel’s hands and dragged it down between them. “Touch me, please,” he begged, though he didn’t give Glorfindel much choice in the matter at all. When he felt those strong fingers curl around the shape of his cock through his leggings he drew in a sudden sharp breath.

“You cannot fool me,” Glorfindel said, making sure that his words breezed over Gildor’s ear as his fingers dragged over the swollen bulge in Gildor’s leggings. “You are as eager as an adolescent. This is how much you have missed me.” His hand squeezed. “Isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is.” Gildor found, to his surprise, the words were not a lie. He had missed Glorfindel, even if it had been largely one-sided, all those years ago, when they were young. He yearned into the touch, his hips lifting, and his heart made it seem familiar.

“I think perhaps I have missed you as much,” Glorfindel admitted, and once again, there was a fleeting uncertainty. It was quickly banished, and the warrior chuckled as he ran a strong thumb over the cock he held captive. Gildor hissed in anticipation, and need. “After all, it was a long walk from the Hall of Fire.”

Gildor looked up, astonished, and saw the laughter in Glorfindel’s eyes. “You are wicked, _aníra nín_. And yes, it was long enough for me to miss you, and the feel of you against me. Now, will you make me wait longer?”

Suddenly Glorfindel knelt straight on the bed, and his hand moved from Gildor’s cock to slap at his thigh. “Undress then!” he ordered, before dragging down the waistband of his own leggings, kicking them off into an untidy heap on the floor. Gildor followed suit, barely managing to fling the last of his clothing away before Glorfindel was covering him again, only now he had the full benefit of Glorfindel’s naked body against his.

For all of his teasing, this really had never happened between them, and it was now Gildor realised the gravity of the situation he had got himself into. He raised his hands to Glorfindel’s shoulders as he felt Glorfindel rubbing against him, making him moan and his body instinctively yield as he stared into the warrior’s eyes.

“If you keep looking at me like that, I’ll never let you leave this bed,” Glorfindel teased. His hand reached to the side, knocking things off the bedside table, then he held up the oil. “Guess who is getting this?”

“Now or later?” Gildor challenged. “If you are wise, it will be me, for now. You have teased me sufficiently, and I will ask that you make good on those wicked hints.” There was laughter in his voice, and joy, and he realised he did want this, more than he had dared to admit to himself. There was no withdrawing now, but he would not have stopped Glorfindel even if he could have done so.

He was no elfling, to tremble so at the touch of another, but Gildor did tremble now. “I have dreamed,” he whispered, and his fingers tightened on Glorfindel’s shoulders.

“What have you dreamed?” Glorfindel’s skin was so warm, and Gildor struggled to find words to explain.

Gildor’s eyes widened at the way the light made a nimbus of pure gold around Glorfindel’s head. “This. You, like the sun itself, warming me.”

“Well then you should be careful,” Glorfindel warned, his face serious, and Gildor felt a flicker of concern. “The sun can burn!” And then Glorfindel dipped his head to nibbled at Gildor’s neck in a way that tickled, making him giggle and try to throw the warrior off.

“Stop!” he cried out, and when Glorfindel finally relented, Gildor’s heart was beating fast in anticipation. He didn’t waste any further time, and when one of Glorfindel’s oiled fingers slipped inside him, Gildor moaned loudly, overplaying the part for all he was worth.

Glorfindel laughed. “If you are determined to overact like that, you will wake the whole house!” Gildor did not allow that assessment to put him off, and he writhed in carnal abandon, tossing his head back, sneaking a look from under his lashes to catch the smile on Glorfindel’s face.

“I see you are indifferent to our audience.” Glorfindel teased another finger inside Gildor, and his moan was not feigned this time. “I will not complain. It is a pretty song you sing for me.”

Glorfindel was exactly how Gildor had envisioned--confident and tender, a combination which was disarming and endearing at the same time. It was a heady thing, to be wanted like this. Gildor arched his back, displaying himself prettily, and his moans increased when Glorfindel’s thumbs skated over his nipples.

“These would look lovely with golden rings through them,” Glorfindel murmured, and he dipped his golden head to suckle first one nipple and then the other. Gildor very nearly forgot to breathe.

Glorfindel’s fingers felt thick and heavy inside him, and he realised he could feel the resistance of his own body as they moved in and out. With a yearning sigh, Gildor raised one of his knees, letting it fall to the side of him, and suddenly those fingers were deeper.

“Oh, yes!” he said, biting his lip. He reached down with a hand to touch himself, only for Glorfindel to grab his wrist with his free hand.

“If you must touch, try this one,” Glorfindel suggested, and guided his hand until he willingly curled his fingers around the warrior’s cock. “That will soon be in you,” Glorfindel purred, never ceasing with the internal massage. He was huge and hard, hot skin sliding under his fingers, against his palm. Glorfindel groaned.

Gildor ran his thumb over the crown of Glorfindel’s cock, feeling the silky moisture which had welled up. He sucked in a breath, eager to catch the scent of his lover, and impatient to savor the taste of the fluid he had collected. “I will never be able to take all of this,” he marveled.

It was only partly the game they were playing. In truth, he wondered if he would be able to accommodate Glorfindel without discomfort. Gildor’s lovers had not been so well endowed, had not been larger than life like the warrior who was coaxing the most wanton moans from him.

“I think you will surprise yourself,” Glorfindel replied, and his confidence brought out a smile from Gildor, before he tossed his head and moaned anew. He was sure he would explode from the pleasure of just this touch. Glorfindel’s cock would be sublime, he decided, even if he lost himself to the raw sensations it would invoke.

“Here,” Glorfindel said, reclaiming the oil bottle and upending it into Gildor’s hand, spilling some there. “Get me ready, and we shall see if we still fit together.”

“Still?” Gildor queried, disconcerted, then he remembered. Glorfindel tilted his head in such an adorable way that Gildor couldn’t help smiling again as he did what Glorfindel suggested, using his hand to cover the warrior’s erection.

“One moment you can’t act to save your life, the next you almost have me convinced,” Glorfindel said. “I won’t underestimate you again.” At last Glorfindel’s fingers left his body, and he pulled himself away from Gildor’s slippery hand. “Moment of truth then,” he said with a wink, and Gildor gulped, trying to relax as he felt the head of Glorfindel’s cock pressing hard against him.

Gildor reminded himself to breathe, to not tense as he opened to the relentless pressure. The head alone felt large enough to split him in two, and he swallowed back a cry, his eyes wide. “ _Ai, Valar,_ ” he whispered.

“You feel as tight as a virgin,” Glorfindel told him, eyes twinkling. “It is a wonder I ever let you out of bed, _lendeth nín_.” He paused for a moment, letting Gildor catch his breath before he pressed deeper into him.

The pressure gave way to a yearning sensation, a need to be filled completely, and Gildor reached out for Glorfindel, urging the warrior onward. The yearning grew until Gildor thought he must go mad, and then he felt Glorfindel against him, so close he could feel the heat which radiated from his skin. “Oh, yes,” he whispered, and his head fell back, his throat bared in surrender.

Tenderly, Glorfindel took what he offered, hot lips brushing over his neck while one of the warrior’s hands moved to cradle the back of his head. It was only when Glorfindel let him back down that he realised Glorfindel had taken one of the pillows. This he used to raise Gildor’s hips, sliding it beneath him, then encouraging him to raise his other knee and let it fall in the same way as the other.

Gildor could only stare into Glorfindel’s eyes. Like this, he was completely open, and Glorfindel did not press now, he thrust deep, drawing a cry from Gildor’s throat. He wanted to say something, but he couldn’t even find it in himself to speak Glorfindel’s name. His muscles twitched automatically, just enough so that he could feel Glorfindel’s length and girth inside him, and then his body relaxed again.

When Glorfindel began to move back and forth it felt like this was how it should always have been between them. There was not a trace of pain or burning now, only incredible pleasure that built in him. Glorfindel leaned upwards, supporting his weight on one hand so that he could take Gildor’s cock into his other.

Gildor could not take his eyes from Glorfindel, the warrior’s strong arm supporting him easily, powerful muscles flexing with each thrust. Gildor rose to meet each thrust, welcoming his lover eagerly, and pressing himself into Glorfindel’s large hand. “ _Matho nin sui mathog i vagol gîn_!” He told himself this was exactly how it would have been and he would never let Glorfindel suspect otherwise.

Then Glorfindel shifted his angle, and Gildor forgot everything except the bliss which swept through him like a storm. “ _I dhû hen and_.”

“I cannot last,” he managed, his breath coming in harsh pants. He could feel heat building, deep within his belly, and his balls felt hot and heavy. “You have undone me, _aníra nín_.” He could smell the musk of his own arousal, and how close he was to spilling.

Glorfindel did not stop. Instead he adjusted his movements until he was rocking slightly inside Gildor, touching him there, deep, over and over as his hand worked on tugging and squeezing, teasing his climax closer and closer. “Give it to me,” Glorfindel said, his voice harsher than before, and Gildor felt his body leap to obey.

Nonsense sounds came from his lips as he jerked in Glorfindel’s hand. Glorfindel himself had stopped moving for this, as Gildor’s body tightened. It felt as though he was giving a part of himself, all the good things that he was made of, concentrated and rushing out of him in spurts that fell to cover his own chest and stomach, dribbling over Glorfindel’s fingers.

Glorfindel saw it through to the end, and when Gildor relaxed again he resumed his rhythm, the length of his cock rubbing against Gildor’s internal walls, and how could it still be pleasure when he had come? Yet it was… it was. Gildor thought he might weep when he felt Glorfindel begin to lose it, his tempo faltering, coming apart as his cock grew just that little bit bigger. It felt so perfect, and he held Glorfindel close in his arms as he came.

Long minutes passed before either elf could find the presence of mind to move, before Gildor wriggled beneath Glorfindel’s weight. Glorfindel reacted with a start, moving to rest alongside Gildor.

“That is better,” Gildor said. It was true on more levels than one. It was lovely to be out from under Glorfindel’s weight, but it was even more lovely to have been beneath the warrior. Gildor searched his memories and dreams, and as fevered as they had been, they bore little resemblance to the reality of the elf in his arms. But there was a game to finish.

“So, was I convincing?” Gildor’s lips twitched as he tried not to smile. “Or did you see right through me? Be honest, now.” Glorfindel was softening, and he would slip free soon enough, but for now Gildor clung to him.

“Oh, your acting was atrocious,” Glorfindel said, good-naturedly, his hand stroking Gildor’s hair in affection. “But your body cannot lie.”

Gildor swallowed and closed his eyes, ready to have his deception exposed. “As to that,” Glorfindel said. “I’ll need to tell you in the morning.” Gildor’s eyes flew open, and he smiled slowly, nuzzling into Glorfindel’s shoulder.

“Will you have me again, then?” he queried, his heart light because he already knew the answer. Glorfindel leaned in close.

“I’m not planning to wait until the morning,” he murmured. “I want you again, as soon as we’re both able.” Gildor moaned at the thought of it. Perhaps Glorfindel’s reincarnation had gifted him with renewed youth if he already planned to have sex throughout the night. But Gildor had no intention of denying him.

 

To be continued...

 

 


	2. Chapter Two

Chapter Two

Gildor woke, pleasantly sore and surprisingly rested given how little he had actually slept. He turned his head, smiling at the vision that was Glorfindel in the morning. Golden curls tumbled over Gildor’s arm, where Glorfindel’s head rested, and a small smile graced the mouth Gildor had kissed with such passion. He could not help a sigh of appreciation for such beauty, right there, in his arms.

Glorfindel’s strong chest rose and fell, and Gildor contemplated the peak of one nipple, debating how he wanted to wake his lover. He was amused to note his reaction to that notion, his cock rising in anticipation. And truth be told, he did want to know if his little deception had been uncovered. Either way, he would make sure this was a new beginning for them both.

Unable to resist temptation, Gildor flicked his tongue out at that nipple, sneaking a glance at Glorfindel’s face as he did it. Glorfindel moaned in his sleep but did not otherwise respond. Gildor did it again, then again, sneaking his free hand down to touch and finding the warrior’s morning erection. He bit his lip, and considered. Despite his efforts, Glorfindel was still sleeping.

Feeling more than a little wicked, Gildor did not use his tongue this time, but bit Glorfindel’s nipple lightly. Not even enough to hurt, but the warrior’s reaction was immediate.

Without quite understanding how it happened, Gildor found himself flipped onto his back with Glorfindel holding him down to the bed. “You looked pretty,” Gildor said with a startled gulp, “sleeping.” He tried to move, but Glorfindel was holding him in such a way.

Gildor lifted his hips, letting his cock brush against Glorfindel’s thigh. He tilted his head to look up at the blond elf as he offered a smile he hoped was sufficient to placate the warrior. When he saw the corner of Glorfindel’s mouth twitch, almost imperceptibly, he relaxed.

“You do know it is unwise to wake anyone who has been trained for battle so abruptly.” Glorfindel held Gildor’s wrists firmly, pinning them above his head in one strong hand. His thighs were pinned beneath Glorfindel, and the warrior used his free hand to trace lazy circles around Gildor’s nipple.

Gildor went for the bluff. “You were not quite so quick to throw me around, like a sack of old cloth, when we last knew each other.” He hissed a little as Glorfindel’s finger drew closer to his nipple.

Glorfindel smirked. “If I threw you around, you would know about it,” he said, and continued to tease, looking deep into Gildor’s eyes. He pushed his chest up, but it did not help, and he made a sound of frustrated dismay, trying to ignore how hot and crowded Glorfindel was making him feel.

“Next time, I will restrain you while you are sleeping, then tease _you_ until you cannot think,” Gildor said. That finger brushed against his nipple, and he gasped.

“Oh, wait,” said Glorfindel, as if realising something. “That isn’t right. What did you do?” Glorfindel dipped his head and teased that same nipple with his teeth, not quite enough to hurt.

Gildor cried out, all too well aware that elves would be stirring and moving about the halls, on their way to breakfast, or to find a bath. He had not been able to help himself, however. Glorfindel had surprised him with the swift retribution for his own teasing. “I am at your mercy, but I am not sure if pleading would help.” He arched upward again, but Glorfindel was having none of it.

“You are so very beautiful like this,” he observed. “Your cheeks are flushed, and even the tips of your ears are blushing. Your eyes are wide, and I can feel your heart beating like a small trapped songbird. It is very tempting to keep you just like this.”

“B-but you can’t just…” Gildor gulped. “Keep me.” Something in his heart dropped in excitement at the thought, imagining himself awaiting Glorfindel’s attention, time after time. “Today I had planned to show you some of the great sights of the valley,” he babbled, aware that Glorfindel bestowed a look of tender amusement on him.

“I have the best view right here,” Glorfindel said. “And as for how you feel. Each time your body feels as exquisite as the first time. I think you will feel that way again when I take you now.”

Gildor moaned but did not speak, wriggling in Glorfindel’s grip uselessly. All night, and then all day? He was not sure he could take such use. “But I will not be able to walk properly,” he blurted. “People will notice!” Glorfindel chuckled.

“If they do, you have only yourself to blame.” Glorfindel cupped Gildor’s hip, his large hand rough and warm. _He has a warrior’s calluses_ , Gildor thought and then he shivered when the hand moved to his cock, the thumb caressing the vein which traveled up along the underside. “And I do not think this argues for me to stop, hm?”

Gildor’s only response was a moan, and he could not help thrusting into Glorfindel’s hand, although Glorfindel loosened his grip to rob Gildor of even that small amount of friction. “Wicked, wicked elf,” he protested.

“That is not what you cried out last night.” Glorfindel watched him avidly, and Gildor was sure his very _fëa_ lay bare before that piercing gaze. “Shall I have you again, my captive beauty? Or was there something you wanted to ask me?”

“We can talk later.” Gildor could feel the heat in his cheeks, his colour surely rising. With luck, Glorfindel would think it arousal, and not shame for his deception. He shivered at the thought of blurting out the truth if pressed later. And again, he hoped his shiver would pass for anticipation. Oh, he was not made for such deceit!

“You are very eager now,” Glorfindel noted, “compared to five minutes ago.” Gildor moaned as Glorfindel encouraged him to spread his legs. “Do we need more oil?” he asked, and one finger pressed against him, seeking entry. Gildor hissed as he was still slightly sore, but the way was easy. Glorfindel hummed in appreciation, looking into Gildor’s eyes.

He felt possessed from that touch alone, knowing that Glorfindel would be inside him again soon, and he was caught in that cool blue gaze. “I will answer the question you refuse to ask,” Glorfindel said, and Gildor’s heart skipped a beat.

Then there were lips on his, pressing lightly, just the tip of Glorfindel’s tongue encouraging him to open his mouth, but then he drew back, though his finger was still moving in and out, over and over, almost teasing. “I knew from the first moment I breached you,” Glorfindel said, his tone neutral. “We never knew each other until last night.”

Gildor did not look away. “No, we did not,” he admitted. “At least not outside my dreams. But it seemed you thought we had, and I would have, had you asked, you know.” He sighed. “Will you forgive my deception?”

Now all he could do was wait, in the hope that he had not damaged the budding relationship between them. Glorfindel still teased him with one finger, his expression resolutely inscrutable. It was all he could do not to wriggle, pinned as he was by the finger and that gaze. While his game had lost its lustre, his desire for Glorfindel had not waned in the slightest.

“If you would go to such lengths to know me like this,” Glorfindel mused. “How can I do anything else but forgive?” Gildor shivered and relaxed, feeling a smile on his face as he closed his eyes, and he was glad.

“Besides which,” Glorfindel continued. “You feel so good I couldn’t leave you alone now even if I wanted to.”

The finger left, and Glorfindel moved so that his cock was pressed against Gildor there. “Ready?” he asked, and Gildor opened his eyes and nodded consent, biting his lip.

“I think so,” he said, and Glorfindel smiled.

“That look right there,” Glorfindel said. “I could become addicted to it.”

Gildor felt his cheeks warm again, but this time it was a joyful thing. “I would not mind it, although it might be nice to be able to walk from time to time,” he teased.

Glorfindel pressed past the slight resistance, until he was seated once again within Gildor’s heat, dragging gasps of pleasure from them both.

“Tell me this,” Glorfindel said, while resting for a moment, to allow Gildor to settle. “Did I at least live up to the dreams?”

“You surpassed the very best of them.” Gildor wriggled a little beneath the warrior. “Now, do you think you could move? I am sure there are some elves who have not heard my cries of delight, and I would so hate for them to feel left out.” His grin was full of cheek.

Glorfindel’s eyes twinkled. “I am going to make you regret saying that,” he promised, and Gildor felt his heart flip, but before he could respond, Glorfindel was moving.

At first, he’d thought Glorfindel would take him fast and deep to make him cry out, but instead it was slow. So perfectly timed that Gildor’s body began to anticipate each press forward, each pulling away, and his body tightened and relaxed unconsciously, until he shocked himself with a deep moan.

Still Glorfindel continued with the same motion, so constant, almost lazy; anticipation followed by pleasure, over and over again, until Gildor was crying out loudly, unaware and uncaring if he was heard or not. Glorfindel never changed the speed or the weight of his movement, and yet Gildor’s climax built in him like a crescendo and he wondered if he would come without Glorfindel even touching his cock.

Glorfindel looked like one of the Valar themselves, gilded by the early morning sun until Gildor could hardly bear to gaze on him. He was caught in the spell Glorfindel wove, his voice breaking over each cry, until he felt one large hand close around his aching cock. He could not be sure who cried out with wanton need then. All he knew was pleasure, and the shape of Glorfindel as he closed around the magnificent cock within. He did not think it possible, but he spilled.

Glorfindel did not even pause for a beat, and he still held Gildor down to the bed as he did it, until Gildor’s cries were sobs of overstimulation and pleas for Glorfindel to find release. At last then something changed, and Glorfindel set his hands free to hold him close, almost lifting him bodily from the bed as he thrust deep and quickly, finding an end at last.

“Well, I think all of Imladris must have heard you now,” Glorfindel teased, his fingers caressing Gildor’s face. With his arms set free, Gildor had wrapped them around his lover and held him close.

“They will be jealous of me then,” he said, uncaring but happy. “And so they should be, for I have the Lord of the House of the Golden Flower.” He paused. “Even if he is a wicked tease.” With a smile to take the sting out of his last comment, he kissed Glorfindel on the lips, then the nose, then the forehead. “Let us get up and bathe, before they come to see if we have killed each other with pleasure!”

“And then we will see if there is anything left for our breakfast, or if the young Lords of Imladris have eaten it all.” Glorfindel snorted. “I would not put too much weight on that title, however. The House of the Golden Flower no longer exists, and I am Lord of nothing more than my own heart.”

“Do you truly think that? I would disagree. I see the elves you train here, and how they look at you. You are Glorfindel, who defended Gondolin, who bought the safety of Tuor and Idril, and their son Eärendil, father of Lord Elrond, with his very life, and who was returned from the Halls of Waiting to protect Imladris.” Gildor’s voice was gentle, despite the strength of his words. “Do not discount who you were, because it is what makes you who you are.”

Glorfindel’s smile warmed Gildor’s heart. “When did you become such an orator?”

“When I saw you returned to us, and began to practice ways to win your heart,” Gildor teased. He found a loose night robe, suitable for a stroll to the baths, and then rummaged for one that might hope to fit the muscular Glorfindel. “And this is hopeless. You are going to need to hold this tight, unless you wish to be exposed to all.” He offered Glorfindel the largest of his night robes with a wry grin.

When Glorfindel had put the robe on, Gildor couldn’t contain a giggle at the sight. The dark blue satin gaped open at Glorfindel’s chest, and every step he took ensured an unseemly length of his muscled thigh was on show. But at least it covered the parts it must.

“We will call at my rooms anyway,” Glorfindel said, “for fresh clothes.” He scooped up his garments from the day before, and they ventured out into the hall. It was quiet - they were later than either of them had supposed, and Gildor preceded Glorfindel into his private quarters upon invitation.

He barely had time to take in the layout of the room before Glorfindel was kissing him, crowding him until he ducked to escape. “Absolutely not,” he said. “We are late enough.”

“What exactly are we late for?” Glorfindel asked between kisses. “I seem to recall you offering to show me the sights of Imladris. Do some of them vanish?” His lips were warm against Gildor’s throat, and a sigh escaped Gildor at the caresses.

“Breakfast. We are late for breakfast.” Gildor wriggled again in an attempt to free himself. “I know I am famished after last night.”

“And this morning,” Glorfindel agreed. He shifted a muscular thigh and pinned Gildor. “I suppose we do need to keep up our strength, if we want to take in the sights.” There was a note in his voice which made Gildor look up sharply. Glorfindel looked resolutely innocent, however, an impression which was almost believable.

“What are you thinking, you wicked elf?” Gildor managed to work his way out from under Glorfindel’s arms.

“I was thinking you are the only sight worth seeing.”

Gildor resolutely refused to be seduced - again - even though he was so unnaturally aware of the bed he had to deliberately ignore it. He pulled open a wardrobe. “I’ll wager you say that to all your lovers,” he said. It wasn’t that he was uneasy with the compliment, just that he had never dreamed to hear Glorfindel say such a thing.

Despite their activities in his own bedroom, he felt hyper aware when Glorfindel stood behind him, and almost leaned back. Even after their long night he stilled smelled wonderful. “I’ll take the silver robe and let you pick me some breeches and a tunic,” Glorfindel said into his ear.

Gildor nodded and reached for the clothing, the silver robe too, only when he turned around Glorfindel had not moved. As he leaned his head back to evade the kiss, he saw the mirror, set into the wardrobe door. He watched Glorfindel for a moment, his large hands on Gildor’s ribs, bending to brush his lips over Gildor’s neck.

“Ahem!” Gildor cleared his throat loudly, causing Glorfindel to look up, then thrust the clothes at him and escaped out into the corridor. He could hear Glorfindel’s laughter for all of a minute before Glorfindel joined him, clothes in hand, dressed in the silver robe, which covered his body properly. Gildor was surprised to find himself slightly regretful as he stared at the warrior’s covered chest. Glorfindel was the best sight in Imladris.

 

To be continued...

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Authors' Note:** Thank you for reading! We hope you are enjoying it. Why not leave a word or two for us to delight in? We cherish reviews.  <3


	3. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three**

Gildor clutched his own clothing tightly as he led the way to the baths, his cheeks feeling warm enough to glow. He chose the baths he knew were always the busiest, but to his chagrin, there was no one within. They were late indeed. He turned to Glorfindel with a bright smile.

“Well, here we are. I will set my things here, and see what soaps are available. There is one I favour, which you might like.” He did his best to make it seem like he was not hurrying to the nearby benches with his clothing, but Glorfindel’s rich chuckle gave the lie to his wishes. He took the opportunity to glance over his shoulder as he examined the flasks and cakes of soap left for general use.

Glorfindel seemed in no hurry as he strolled to a bench to deposit his own clothing, and Gildor cursed his cock as he watched Glorfindel strip off the silver robe. It was impossible for any elf to be so splendid. Glorfindel might have been one of the Valar, so perfectly made was he. The lanterns’ shadows sculpted every muscle, and lit the golden hair on Glorfindel’s broad chest. He swallowed hard and returned to the soaps, grabbing one at random. It had a green and pleasant scent.

“Here, this one is quite refreshing. And this is what I use for my hair.” Gildor waved a flask, his words trailing off as Glorfindel smiled.

“You might want to take off your robe, you know.” Glorfindel took the soap and flask, sauntering to the bath while Gildor watched in rapt admiration.

He turned quickly, and divested himself of his robe. When he was finally ready - and calm enough - to turn around again, there was no sight of Glorfindel. The flask and soap were set out on the side of the bath, and as Gildor walked over to them, he could see the rippling image of Glorfindel under the water.

Gildor sat and dangled his feet over the edge before slipping into the water. It was a wonderful warm temperature, and he sighed in pleasure as he saw Glorfindel rise up from the bottom of the pool.

Glorfindel surfaced before him, head thrown back, the steaming water cascading down his body. Gildor was captivated. Glorfindel’s golden hair had deepened to a dark blond, the curls tighter and more clearly defined. The warrior opened his eyes and straightened his head, his hands coming to rest on the edge of the bath at either side of Gildor.

Gildor swallowed hard. “How is the water?” he asked. He knew it was idiotic the moment the words left his lips, but the sight of Glorfindel robbed him of any sense at all. He could feel his cock stirring, and he could not stop himself from leaning forward and kissing Glorfindel. His hands reached for those strong shoulders, and he felt muscle ripple beneath the silken skin as Glorfindel pressed closer.

“You were made by the Valar to be kissed,” Glorfindel murmured. His mouth moved along Gildor’s jaw, to the tip of his ear, and Gildor arched into Glorfindel’s chest with a moan when he felt teeth nibbling the sensitive flesh. He could not believe Glorfindel was ready again, so soon. Perhaps the Valar had given him such resilience as a reward for agreeing to return.

And now those lips were moving down his throat, to the hollow beneath his adam’s apple, and his cock was hard without any further deliberation. Such was the effect Glorfindel had on him, and Gildor did not want to resist. “You were made to be bewitching,” he told Glorfindel, his voice husky with need. “I cannot pretend I do not want you, even if it means I may never walk again.”

To his surprise, Glorfindel only chuckled in amusement, then backed away slightly, taking up the flask and covering his fingers with its contents. “Turn around,” he suggested, “and I will wash your hair.”

Gildor didn't even think until he had obeyed, facing the edge of the bath with Glorfindel behind him, but then he caught his breath as Glorfindel came closer again, fingertips raking back through his hair making his scalp tingle. He was only half aware of gripping the stone, closing his eyes, arching his body in some subtle way so that Glorfindel could continue handling his hair, while his buttocks bumped into a part of Glorfindel that was hotter than the warm water. Gildor gasped.

“I do not think you realise just how inviting you are,” Glorfindel said, and there was a sensual quality to his voice. “I promised to wash your hair.” Glorfindel paused, then whispered: “you're almost begging for it...”

With a gulp, Gildor just managed to bite back the 'please' that had been on the tip of his tongue. It was as if he could not help himself. “But be warned,” Glorfindel teased, suddenly pressing forward, trapping his body against the side of the bath so that Gildor could feel how hard he was. It made a low moan vibrate in his throat. _Invitation_ , his mind supplied sinfully. “If you remain so...” He could almost feel Glorfindel looking him up and down. “...available, when I have done with your hair, I will happily have you again here, even if we gather an audience.”

“Do you think to dissuade me?” Gildor found his voice, pinned between Glorfindel and the warm stone. He breathed in, the scent of the salve being applied to his hair both familiar and subtly thrilling, mingled as it was with the scent which was so uniquely Glorfindel--the clean pine of a mountain forest mingled with hot, coppery blood.

Glorfindel’s fingers did not pause in their ministrations. “I remember you as one who did not seek the spotlight.” He did not move away, letting Gildor feel the hard length of his desire.

“Much has changed.” Gildor did not know if he wanted to press back against Glorfindel, or seek the embrace of the stones to ease his own need for touch. It almost did not matter; a deep enough breath and he would have both. “Is it so hard to think I might have learned not to hide my interest? I am not ashamed of wanting you--” He gasped as Glorfindel pressed even closer, “and I do not care who knows it.”

As Glorfindel pressed against him, the warrior groaned quietly into his ear. “I will have you first,” he vowed, and it seemed to Gildor as if Glorfindel couldn’t help himself either. It gave him a heady feeling, a joyful feeling, and he moved his body suggestively against the warrior.

“Yes,” he whispered back, turning his head to press his lips against the corner of Glorfindel’s mouth. “You should have me first, just as you say.”

He leaned forward further forward, just how Glorfindel wanted, and his hair was full of the conditioner Glorfindel had been using. It fell in dark ribbons around him on the side of the bath as Glorfindel made his body ready with the same salve. Nothing felt real until Glorfindel breached him - again - and his body adjusted more quickly this time. Yet still, he could think of nothing else, even as Glorfindel placed hands over his on the side of the bath.

Gildor moved with Glorfindel inside him, feeling himself full as he had never been before. His other lovers did not come close to this, and never would. “Will you tease me longer?” he asked, and he could hear the joy in his voice. “At this rate, vexatious elf, we will miss our supper.”

“Is that what you want? To spend all day in this bath, letting me render you voiceless with pleasure?” Glorfindel withdrew with deliberate languor, and held with only the head of his cock still inside Gildor. “Shall I make you cry out my name, over and over, until there is nothing left but sighs and whispers?” His breath was hot against Gildor’s ear, and he shivered with anticipation.

“If you must hear it, then yes,” Gildor replied, and cried out as Glorfindel pressed in, deep and possessive.

Gildor panted, feeling Glorfindel filling him completely. “My name,” Glorfindel demanded playfully.

“Oh, Glorfindel!” Gildor cried out loudly, overacting again so that Glorfindel laughed. He did too, and it made his body tighten. Glorfindel was hard and unyielding inside him, and it felt amazing.

Suddenly Glorfindel’s arms were wrapped around him, pulling him close. “You have to stop doing that,” the warrior almost growled the words into his ear. There was no laughter in him now. Instead, it seemed like he was just barely in control of himself.

Gildor attempted to calm himself, but he couldn’t, and as if it had drawn a response, Glorfindel pulled back and then drove into him hard. That cured him of his giggling, and he felt his knees go weak. If Glorfindel hadn’t been holding him up, he might have stumbled and fallen.

“Glorfindel…” he moaned, without any encouragement or affectation now.

He could not move, could not think past the way Glorfindel had spoken. The game was well and truly over, he realised. It was not his nature to be passive, but he felt so in the face of Glorfindel’s need, for that was what it was, even if he knew not what the warrior needed. In all his years, Gildor did not recall ever being taken quite so fiercely. The strong arms encircling him tightened, and he gasped.

“Glorfindel…” He felt hot tears prickling behind his eyelids, and he let himself go limp in Glorfindel’s arms. He gripped the edge of the bath as Glorfindel plundered him, hard and demanding, and each gasp teetered on the edge of a sob. He was not sure if it was still pleasure he felt, but his body responded anyway.

Perhaps he thought he had opened himself to Glorfindel before, but it hadn’t been like this. For these few moments, Gildor felt true submission, each one of Glorfindel’s movements touching him more deeply than the mere physical nature of their coupling.

He uttered Glorfindel’s name without even hearing it, like a prayer, until he really was reduced to sighs and whispers. Then, it occurred to him that he didn’t know when Glorfindel had gentled his movements, but he had, and the sudden perception of pleasure overwhelmed his senses until it felt as if his body was singing with it.

“Gildor…” Glorfindel moaned, and he supplied the warrior with a heartfelt and passionate assent, feeling his lover reach completion inside him. Had he come himself? Gildor was shocked to discover he didn’t know, and further, that he didn’t care. His nerves thrummed with profound satisfaction and warmth towards Glorfindel.

When his lover pulled away, Gildor allowed Glorfindel to tilt him back into the water, trusting, leaving him completely off balance while the warrior rinsed his hair, one large hand cradled behind his head to hold his weight. He stared up into Glorfindel’s eyes, overcome by something that he could only realise was love. Glorfindel was smiling, beautiful, tender and considerate. When he had finished with Gildor’s hair, his hand travelled down Gildor’s body slowly, and then wrapped around his erection. Gildor shuddered in awareness at the realisation he hadn’t found that end, that he was still hard, and the assurance that Glorfindel was going to make certain of his pleasure too.

Such awareness banished any last doubts or fears Gildor might have harboured deep within. His _fëa_ felt as light as a feather, suffused as he was with love, and joy. While he could not be sure, not so soon, he did think he saw, at the very least, the beginnings of love in Glorfindel’s eyes, and it was enough. It was more than enough.

Glorfindel’s hand was hotter than the water, hotter than Gildor’s own flesh, and he yearned into the touch. Even in this, Glorfindel was magnificently confident, fingers tightening just so, and every movement bringing him closer to completion. He was indeed wordless now, shaping Glorfindel’s name with each sigh, his trust absolute as his head came to rest on Glorfindel’s strong shoulder. He turned his face to press it to the damp curls of his lover, burnished gold and silken against his skin.

When it came, his release shook him to his core. The love he felt for Glorfindel, the trust he felt, these were more of himself than he had ever given before, and his surrender was as complete as he felt in Glorfindel’s embrace. He tightened, his back arching as he spilled, and his tears were lost in the soft curls of his lover as he shuddered through the final throes of his pleasure.

Soon he found himself stood in the water again, on his feet, held in Glorfindel’s arms. The warrior’s hands stroked down over his back, soothing. It was quiet and undemanding, and exactly what he needed.

“Are you alright?” Glorfindel asked eventually, his voice deep and soft. Gildor nodded, then stepped away, feeling a little more like himself again. That Glorfindel had seemed to understand he needed those quiet moments made him feel cherished, but a little too vulnerable. He crossed the bath to the soap and then turned around.

“I suppose I’ll have to let you wash your own hair now,” he teased, deliberately, and Glorfindel smirked.

“I suppose so,” the warrior said, and came near to empty the flask of hair conditioner into his palm, rubbing it through the length of his hair as he stared at Gildor, his eyes twinkling. “You’d have to get up a lot earlier in the morning,” he commented, and Gildor threw the soap at him.

The rest of the bath proceeded without further lovemaking, although Gildor found himself curiously tender towards Glorfindel. Despite his avowed refusal to do so, he could not resist helping to rinse the conditioner from Glorfindel’s curls. They dried themselves and dressed, and went to the dining hall, where they were able to beg a belated breakfast of fruits, wheatcakes, and honey, washed down with cups of tea.

There were a few glances directed their way when Gildor led Glorfindel out into the gardens, wanting to show him some of the rare trees which had found a home among Lord Elrond’s groves. In particular, there was one grove which reminded him of Gondolin, and it was his thought Glorfindel might find it as pleasant a refuge as he had done.

The day was clear, and bright, and a gentle breeze kept it from being too warm for a walk. Gildor glanced at Glorfindel as they strolled along at their leisure. “I have to admit, walking is quite pleasant. I had thought I might be a bit fatigued.” His lips twitched in an effort to hide a grin.

Glorfindel suddenly stopped and gave him a stunned look of assessment. “If that is so, I am sure I can be a little more demanding tonight.”

With a little laugh, Gildor took Glorfindel’s hand and pulled him onward. _Tonight_ … secretly, in his mind, Gildor calculated the hours left in the day as they continued walking. They went quite far, and Glorfindel commented upon the grove, making Gildor happy he had chosen it. Then, at last, he began to flag a little, and sat down on the sun-warmed glass with a little sigh. Glorfindel dropped down beside him.

“I think I might need a little rest,” Gildor said, startling himself with a yawn. But the sun was warm and the grass was cool. The blue sky looked like freedom as he lie down and looked up at it through the shade of the trees. Glorfindel didn’t seem tired at all, but considering what he had got through at breakfast… Gildor wondered how all that food fit in him!

Glorfindel settled onto the grass beside Gildor, and lifted his head onto his lap. One large hand stroked his hair almost absently, and he had the somewhat ridiculous urge to purr. It was wonderfully soothing, though, and he was loath to discourage the attention.

“Are you feeling better?” Glorfindel asked, giving Gildor another of his assessing looks. “Perhaps you have overestimated your own capacity for… exertion.” He laughed when Gildor prodded his ribs.

“You are wicked, and a tease.” He smiled up at his lover. “I am just a little out of practice. I promise you, I will not always need to rest halfway through a stroll.” He reached up to tug one golden curl. “Shall we stay here for a little while, before we return?”

“I would not mind staying here for a bit.” Glorfindel leaned over to capture a kiss from Gildor, who wriggled away and sat up.

“Oh, no. I am not going to be tumbled in the grass like…like…well, I do not know quite what I would be like, but never mind that.” Gildor laughed at Glorfindel’s surprised expression. “We will walk back, and have a proper dinner, and then maybe we will go to your room tonight, instead of mine.” He felt a tiny shiver of anticipation at the thought of being in Glorfindel’s bed. What sort of things would await him there?

“But I thought you had a big day planned!” Glorfindel said in mock disappointment. “You mentioned sights,” he said, nodding. “In the plural.”

Gildor shrugged and stood up, stretching. “Well, what about a little day, and a big night?” he queried, and had his answer when Glorfindel scrambled to his feet enthusiastically.

They walked back slowly, hand in hand, remembering little things to each other about their lives before, though Gildor thought Glorfindel filled in a few gaps via their conversation. He was happy to ease his lover’s mind this way.

They still had several hours before the evening meal, so they spent those in the library, and Gildor led Glorfindel through the new shape of Middle Earth. They drank small amounts of miruvor and told each other more and more ridiculous stories until they were shooed out by the librarians for their noisy laughter.

Gildor insisted they finish their conversation by the fountain, and there, in the company of some of the other elves of Imladris, Glorfindel entertained his lover with even more fanciful stories. No one noticed Lord Elrond watching and listening, but if they had, they would have seen his lips twitching in a smile he was hard pressed to conceal, before he returned to his workroom.

“And that,” Glorfindel said with an air of satisfaction, “is the proper way to deal with goblins.” Gildor laughed into the sleeve of his robe, and Glorfindel arched an imperious brow. “We could demonstrate, you know. Would you care to play my part, and I will be the goblin?”

Gildor waved a hand, still laughing. “No one would ever believe you as a goblin. And I am hardly a swordmaster. I can hold my own, of course, but I know my limits.”

“Do you?” There was the slightest drawl to Glorfindel’s words, and Gildor found himself warm-cheeked and nearly flustered, although no one else would have remarked the question had he not given himself away with his blushes.

“You cannot evade the challenge,” one onlooker cried out. “Come, Gildor, and show us.”

Gildor glanced around, suddenly aware of their audience, and then laughed. “But I am not armed,” he argued, yet that didn’t seem to stop Glorfindel stalking him around the fountain as he backed away.

There was a certain amount of laughter around him, but it was friendly and good natured. He sensed that others had now seen Glorfindel and himself together, and were accepting of it. It felt good, and it only added to his giddy excitement as Glorfindel attempted to grab him.

“Improvise!” Glorfindel said, and Gildor looked around him for a weapon, or some form of rescue. He saw his escape by way of an elf who came out to announce the evening meal, and he did not need to do anything for it to work in his favour. Not if what he had seen at breakfast was any indication of Glorfindel’s appetite.

“You are mine now!” Glorfindel said as he grasped the front of Gildor’s tunic. Just then the gong sounded for dinner, and the other elves began to drift away. Glorfindel waited until they were quite alone. His hands loosened, slipping around Gildor’s waist, and he tilted his head in an adorable fashion. “Saved by the bell,” Glorfindel said. “I should like a little taste first. Consider it an appetiser.”

Gildor laughed, feeling quite at home in his lover’s arms. He reached up to drape his arms over Glorfindel’s muscular shoulders. “Then have your taste,” he murmured, and his lips parted slightly in invitation. The most delectable heat started deep in his belly, while he looked into Glorfindel’s eyes. He had no desire to offer any resistance, which was not like him. But Glorfindel was kissing him, and that was enough.

 

To be continued...

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Authors' Note:** Thank you for reading, we hope you are enjoying it. Please consider leaving a word or two so we know you are there.


	4. Chapter Four

**Chapter Four**

The second call to dinner made them break apart, laughing and happy, and they walked into the dining hall with bright smiles and, in Gildor’s case, rosy cheeks. Again, no one remarked on their arriving together, nor did anyone seem surprised when Glorfindel seated himself next to Gildor, pouring wine for his lover with a generous hand.

“ _Ai_ , enough,” he laughed, putting a hand up to stop Glorfindel. “I will not make it past the first course if you pour for me like that.”

As before, Glorfindel ate everything that was put before him, even going so far as to order seconds of some things. He’d never noticed it before, but then, he’d never really taken such an interest in what Glorfindel ate before. It was likely the demands of his work, since Gildor noticed many of the other warriors putting much the same quantity away.

He pretended not to notice Glorfindel kept topping up his wine, but tried to pace himself, until at last he sprawled back in his seat a little, and regarded Glorfindel from under his lashes.

“Are you trying to get me drunk?” he asked directly. Glorfindel paused in the middle of reaching for the wine bottle, and pulled it over in his hand. He leaned in close, and Gildor tilted his head so that Glorfindel could whisper to him.

“I’m trying to make you easy,” he whispered, and a sudden thrill of sexual excitement raced through him, making him gulp and sit up in his seat as Glorfindel topped up his glass… again.

“I did not think I had presented much of a challenge thus far,” Gildor murmured, promising himself to ignore this new glass of wine. His head was spinning, and not from the wine alone. Having Glorfindel this close, paying such attention to him in front of Lord Elrond, in front of everyone was enough to make any elf dizzy. For him, it was a dream made real.

To cover his slightly flustered state, he reached for a piece of fruit. The first thing which came to hand was a fig, ripe and sweet. He took a nibble and caught a drop of nectar with the tip of his tongue as it pearled against the thick skin. Glorfindel’s breath teased his ear.

“I would love to see your tongue wrap around my sac, exactly like that.”

Gildor inhaled sharply, and began to cough,taking the glass of wine Glorfindel offered him so helpfully and drinking deeply. “Oh, you wicked elf,” he muttered, when he could breathe again, Glorfindel’s chuckle sending another wave of heat to his groin.

Before long, the meal was over, and Gildor was glad when he began to see elves leaving the table. Truly he did not think he could keep drinking at the pace Glorfindel was urging him to. The heat of Glorfindel’s palm was pressed against his thigh under the table, and he realised he did not know when Glorfindel had put it there.

He refused to even consider the next full glass Glorfindel put before him, turning his face away. Yet he must have misjudged how closely Glorfindel was leaning in, because he found himself brushing his lips over the warrior’s ear. _Valar, he smelled gorgeous!_ Gildor made a soft sound of surprise, and let his head fall back slightly to end the contact.

“Shall I take you to bed?” Glorfindel asked, out loud, and Gildor could swear he saw Lord Elrond’s sudden smirk at the warrior’s antics. Gildor knew he was drunk, much more so than the night before, and he couldn’t remember the last time he had felt this way. His body seemed light, and each movement he made was exaggerated and slow. He heaved a noisy sigh, and poked Glorfindel in the chest with his index finger.

“You are very naughty,” he announced, and as Glorfindel smiled at him, the hand on his leg lightened, the fingers of that hand tickling the inside of his thigh. Gildor drew in a shocked breath as the heat coiled in him, stirring his body. This time he waved his finger in front of Glorfindel’s face. “We will have words, naughty elf,” he teased. Glorfindel laughed merrily.

Gildor stood, and he was terribly proud of not swaying, although he did hold the back of his chair for a moment to make sure. “At least tell me you were matching my imbibing.” He shot Glorfindel a look over his shoulder, and he was startled anew by the warrior’s proximity, close enough for him to feel heat rising from Glorfindel’s body.

“I will tell you nothing of the sort,” Glorfindel replied, smug. He wrapped a strong arm around Gildor’s waist, encouraging him to lean against his lover. “Now, let me take you to bed.”

“Of course, so you can have your wicked way with me.” Gildor sniffed, but he did not protest as he was led out of the dining hall. He lost track of the turnings, and he looked at Glorfindel sharply. “You are truly a naughty elf, _aníra nín_. You did not need to try and get me drunk. Not that I am drunk. Far from it.”

“Not at all,” Glorfindel agreed, and Gildor heard the laughter in his voice. A little too gently, Glorfindel drew him to a stop before he could go marching straight past Glorfindel’s door.

“What I want to know,” Gildor said as the door was opened and he was bundled inside it, “is when do _I_ get to have my wicked way with you?” Glorfindel crowded him, so that he seemed to have no option but to step back, and he frowned, only to find himself laid on Glorfindel’s bed. It was soft, and he thought perhaps he fell into it too deeply. Or was that the wine?

Glorfindel’s face was only inches above his own, amused and desirous. Gildor sighed and reached up to pull him down. “Mmm…” Glorfindel said, and brushed lips against his. “When I have had enough, you can take a turn.”

With a happy sigh, he stretched out his neck as Glorfindel peppered his face and neck with tiny kisses. He knew Glorfindel was busy with his hands too, undressing him, and Gildor applied himself to trying to undo Glorfindel’s buttons, biting his lip in concentration. They seemed to be avoiding his fingers. “And when will you have ‘had enough’?” Gildor queried, settling for ignoring the buttons in favour of just pulling Glorfindel’s tunic apart. His lover laughed deeply. _Never_ , that laugh said.

Gildor let his fingers wander across the expanse of chest revealed by the rent tunic. The fine hairs were as silky as the curls which fell over Glorfindel’s shoulder, to tickle him as he was kissed and nibbled into a state of pure sensation. He found one nipple, almost by chance, and he circled it with his thumb.

As they removed the rest of their clothing, he found he did not mind the prospect of spending the foreseeable future beneath Glorfindel, or at least as full of Glorfindel as he could get. There was such pleasure in being wanted so deeply. If he thought about it long enough, he was quite sure he would be moved to tears. To be so well loved was headier than any wine, more potent than miruvor.

“If you keep up this pace, you will have had enough by the next moon,” he teased, looking up into Glorfindel’s eyes. It was like looking into a cloudless summer sky, endless and yet welcoming and cosy. “And I will have bowed legs, and walk with a limp.”

Gildor laughed, feeling Glorfindel’s hard shaft against his leg. He lifted his hips helpfully, bumping into his lover and shivering as his cock touched warm flesh. “I think you would like that. Everyone would know why, and you would wave them off, as pleased with yourself as could be.”

Glorfindel said nothing, and only reached out to his bedside table. His hands were busy above Gildor’s line of sight, but he heard the faint glug of the oil as Glorfindel drizzled it onto his fingers, and his body seemed to leap eagerly, without bothering to check with his brain first.

When Glorfindel put the bottle on the table and moved back down the bed, he stared into Gildor’s eyes again. “I am not concerned with everyone,” he said simply. “I am only concerned with you.”

It touched his heart, it did, or else his emotions were stirred too intensely by the alcohol he had consumed, but Gildor did not think so. Glorfindel’s hand was already there, beneath him, one finger rubbing and pressing against him before sliding inside. “Ohhh,” he moaned, instinctively raising his knees to either side of his lover’s waist, caught by Glorfindel’s sincerity and desire.

He did not quite know what to say. There was something so vast contained in those simple words. _I am only concerned with you._ No one had ever said such a thing to Gildor, not in this context. Oh, he had been the focus of a healer from time to time, when he was wounded, but their concern was the professional sort, and not this intoxicating thing Glorfindel offered so easily.

“ _Aníra nín_ ,” he whispered. “Glorfindel…” It earned him a smile of surpassing beauty, Glorfindel holding him captive with a look.

“ _Mîr nín_.” Glorfindel’s finger moved in and out, preparing him, but in truth, he was more than ready. He shivered in need and anticipation, his hips lifting again in a silent plea. He was still tender, and he felt the warrior’s touch keenly, but it only whetted his appetite. He longed to be filled again, so there would be no empty places left for doubt to take hold. He was worthy of Glorfindel, and it was those simple words which convinced him. _I am only concerned with you._

Soon it was the head of Glorfindel’s erection pressing for entry, and Gildor relaxed on purpose, the alcohol he had consumed aiding him. Moaning, his hands gripped Glorfindel’s forearms, and they were immovable at either side of him, like the bars of a prison he did not wish to escape. Glorfindel’s weight was held there as his body moved forward; steady, unerring and precise.

This time, Gildor kept his eyes open as long as he could, and he saw Glorfindel staring down at him for a moment before he was breached by the warrior’s solid, thick cock. The focus in his lover’s eyes changed subtly and his eyelashes fluttered closed in pleasure. Like his hair when it was wet, Glorfindel’s eyelashes were a dark flaxen gold. His hands were dislodged as Glorfindel adjusted his weight, his warm palms tenderly easing Gildor’s knees apart from where he had pulled them up and into his body. Glorfindel gained an extra inch or so with that, making Gildor grunt deeply at the sensation and his hands held Glorfindel’s biceps now, fingertips pressing as if for mercy.

Even deeper, and Gildor felt so full, his body still yielding, his internal muscles clutching at Glorfindel as he continued to push past them. He could not speak; instead his body was doing it for him, twitching playfully until Glorfindel was all the way. Gildor could only take tiny breaths, understanding he held all of his lover inside him. “All of me,” Glorfindel whispered, as if he had read Gildor’s thought. “Easy like this… you need no rough handling, _mîr nín_.”

Gildor’s eyes shone with unshed tears. “Glorfindel,” he managed, his voice husky with emotion. How had he come to be so loved, by this elf he had long desired? Truly, the Valar had blessed him. “You are perfect, _aníra nín_.” His fingers dug into strong biceps, and he could not look away from that beloved face. To see such pleasure there, and to know he was the cause of it was almost too much.

The wine made it harder for him to focus on anything beyond this moment, this complete surrender to Glorfindel and the joy it brought. He could not even find it in himself to move, and again, Glorfindel seemed to know his very thoughts.

“I have you,” Glorfindel assured him. “You are in my hands, my beauty.” He accepted this in perfect trust, and when Glorfindel began to move, and he could breathe, he ghosted a wanton moan and let his head fall back to expose the pale column of his throat.

At some point he’d raised one of his legs and wrapped it around Glorfindel, his heel on the warrior’s back as Glorfindel’s weight came to rest upon him, pressing him deep into the mattress. His own neglected cock was trapped between their bodies, Glorfindel’s movements providing a fantastic friction that made Gildor whimper in pleasure.

“Mmm…” Glorfindel made a low, almost dangerous sound of pleased satisfaction, then took what he offered, nipping at Gildor’s neck with his teeth before fastening there and sucking hard, yet before he could do more than react with a loud moan, a warm thumb was on his jaw, making him raise his head for a kiss.

Perhaps it was just Glorfindel’s nature, but he dominated in this too for now, the warmth of his tongue pushing in, silencing Gildor completely. When his fingers slid into Glorfindel’s hair, the warrior merely held his wrists down to the bed. It all contributed to a feeling of being utterly overwhelmed and consumed. Gildor found his mind leaping to each time Glorfindel had known his body this way, connecting them as if they were all that existed, as if he were only meant for Glorfindel’s pleasure. For his release.

A moment of instinctive panic swiftly passed, leaving a deeper trust and surrender in its wake as Glorfindel continued to inundate each of his senses. Glorfindel would not let him become lost. With that knowledge came the freedom to let himself truly feel every sensation being visited upon him.

Just the very act of kissing Gildor made Glorfindel shift within him, and even so small a movement sent shivers of delighted pleasure through him. He knew he would not last, could not last, and this felt right. He felt himself building to an inevitable release, and he offered a small whimper as a token warning to his lover. His leg, still wrapped around Glorfindel, tightened, and his hips tried to lift, but the weight of the warrior held him in place.

“Yes, my beauty. Let it go, and come for me,” Glorfindel urged. His voice was a bit ragged as well.

Gildor heard himself cry out, and then he was swept away in a rush of heat and release. He could feel nothing except pleasure, Glorfindel continuing to move in a leisurely fashion, tender, steady forays which kept him on the edge until pleasure danced closer to pain. He felt the sticky wetness between them, and he tried to wriggle away to no avail. Just when he thought he could take no more, when he was sure his cries would turn to sobs, Glorfindel groaned and pushed in, as deep as before, and he could do nothing beyond accepting the heat of Glorfindel’s release.

For a few moments, neither of them moved. Glorfindel had somehow tucked his face in toward the side of Gildor’s neck, and he was hot and heavy. Now that the warrior had found release, he seemed less hard and muscled; instead Gildor had the impression that Glorfindel was draped over him, pliant and floppy. The idea amused him, and he drew in a deeper breath to laugh, only to find it forced out of him by Glorfindel’s weight on his chest.

Gildor coughed, and lowered his leg, his ankle brushing down over the back of Glorfindel’s thigh until it rested in the crook at the back of his knee. His movement dislodged something, and Glorfindel slipped a little from inside him, resulting in a deep grumble of wordless dismay near his ear.

“Glorfindel,” Gildor said, longing to laugh again. Who knew the blond warrior could be so cuddly as this? He managed to wriggle his arms free and let his fingertips glide down over Glorfindel’s back. Gildor jerked his shoulder. “I need to breathe,” he said softly.

Glorfindel lifted his head, his eyes still somewhat dazed. “Then breathe,” he said, leaning in again to nuzzle his ear.

“You are too heavy, _aníra nín_.” He tried to shift Glorfindel to no avail. “Please?”

He was rewarded with widened eyes, and Glorfindel rolled to one side. It was his turn to sound dismayed, as Glorfindel slipped free, and he felt unspeakably empty. He turned to his side and reached for his lover.

“Are you alright? Is this better?” Glorfindel lifted his face to look into his eyes, and whatever he saw made him smile in relief.

He basked in the glow of his lover’s smile, feeling content as he placed one hand on Glorfindel’s muscular chest, feeling the strong heartbeat, and the warmth that radiated from him. “Thank you,” he murmured.

“For what?”

“For having me.” He did laugh this time, when Glorfindel snorted and tugged him close to kiss him.

Gildor rested his head on Glorfindel’s chest after the kiss, and they lie quietly together for a few minutes, Glorfindel’s hand stroking down his back. He felt warm and treasured, and loved.

“Are you tired?” Glorfindel asked suddenly, sounding bright and wide awake. With some reluctance, Gildor sat up in the bed and looked down at Glorfindel.

“Wicked elf! Will it do me any good if I am?” Gildor queried, watching how Glorfindel used a finger to stroke up and down his shin. It made a tickling sensation run through him. The warrior grinned.

“It is early yet,” he said with a gentle smile. “I thought we could visit the baths again, then come back here and get to know each other properly.” He paused. “The way I suggested at dinner.”

Gildor had a sudden enthusiasm for that suggestion. They would not be alone in the baths - not in the evening - but that hardly mattered. The idea of it made him almost breathless, and yet… he cast his glance dubiously towards Glorfindel’s wardrobe. “Do you have a robe that won’t drown me?” he asked, giving his answer at the same time.

Glorfindel’s laugh rang out. “Oh, my little peacock, I am sure we can find something which will suit you.” He sat up as well, and slid long legs over the side of the bed. “Do you have a colour preference? What suits you better, silk or satin? Or is velvet more to your taste?”

He could not help but join in the laughter. “Something I will not trip over is fine, wicked elf. I am not that much of a peacock.”

 

To be continued...

 

**Translations:**

_aníra nín_ –  my desire

_mîr nín_ – my treasure

_bain nín_ – my beauty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Authors' Note:** Thank you for reading, we hope you're enjoying it. Please leave a comment! :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

The bath was indeed populated, but no one took any special notice of the lovers, and they were far more circumspect in their bathing this time, despite Glorfindel managing a few tickles and touches which nearly made him cry out. They strolled back to Glorfindel’s room, passing no one.

He fully expected to be pushed against the nearest wall as soon as the door closed, but Glorfindel led him to the bed, and then turned to rummage for a flagon of miruvor and some glasses. He poured them both a small measure of the cordial, and curled up next to Gildor on the bed.

They sipped their drinks, looking into each other’s eyes, and Gildor was certain that at any moment, Glorfindel would do something sudden, such as pounce on him. Yet it didn’t happen. Gildor experimentally put out his hand, and Glorfindel raised his. Their palms pressed together, fingers entwining. It was hardly anything, but if felt like such an intimate touch.

Gildor finished off his drink and put his glass aside. With his free hand, he touched Glorfindel’s lips with his fingers. Glorfindel did not do anything besides kiss Gildor’s fingers, though his eyes closed. It was so easy to lean forward and capture Glorfindel’s lips with his own. This time, he found himself directing the kiss, and he did so with a pleased sound.

When he had tasted enough, he moved to Glorfindel’s jaw, smiling against his lover’s skin when Glorfindel tilted his head back, giving access to his throat. He pulled back for a moment, and he realised that Glorfindel really was his. This, more than Glorfindel’s claiming of him, made it clear. Something in him soared with joy, and he smiled as he took away Glorfindel’s glass and pushed his lover back onto the bed, into the pillows.

He pushed open Glorfindel’s robe, breathing in the scent of soap, sun, and elf. It was a heady scent, uniquely Glorfindel, and he leaned closer to revel in it. Glorfindel’s strong chest was bared, the golden hair just a bit darker than the curls of his head. The warrior’s nipples peeked out, tight and rosy, and he bent his head to kiss one peaked nub, the tip of his tongue flickering past his lips to tease it.

And still, Glorfindel did not pounce. He sprawled on the bed, his eyes hooded as he watched Gildor explore. One large hand lifted, came to rest on Gildor’s head, to stroke him tenderly, the touch gentle and loving. He straddled his lover as he nuzzled, pressing kisses to both nipples in turn as he came to understand there was no hurry this time, no burning urgency. He was free to savour Glorfindel, to explore without boundaries.

He ran his hands along Glorfindel’s sides, mapping the curves and angles of his lover. He could feel the hardness of rib beneath warm skin and taut muscle, and all but hear the thrum of blood in Glorfindel’s veins. He traced the sharp points of hipbones, and explored the powerful thighs and dimpled flanks, and still, Glorfindel merely watched, eyes heated with desire.

He could make this last longer, he knew, but he didn’t want to. He moved down, encouraging Glorfindel to spread his legs so he could lie down between them. From where he was, he could look into Glorfindel’s eyes, but he could also see the warrior’s cock, so close, and he reached out a hand to touch.

Glorfindel was already mostly hard, but his cock firmed immediately when Gildor touched him, and he heard Glorfindel whisper an expletive above him. Gildor smiled, curling his fingers around it, marvelling that it fit inside him, because Glorfindel really was generously proportioned.

“Do you remember your wish at the dinner table?” he asked, flicking his eyes up to look, seeing Glorfindel let his head fall back onto the pillows with a slight thud. “No cheating now,” Gildor teased. “If I remember correctly, you wanted to watch.”

Something in him surged with new found power when Glorfindel obediently raised his head, looking down his body to where Gildor was. Using his hand to hold Glorfindel’s cock up and away, he leaned in and curled his tongue around the fleshy sac beneath, feeling the heavy shape of Glorfindel’s balls inside. He captured one gently in his mouth, tracing the shape with his tongue.

Glorfindel sucked in a harsh breath, his eyes never leaving Gildor as his lips closed around his lover’s balls, first one, and then the other. A small drop of moisture, gleaming in the soft light, appeared on the head of Glorfindel’s thick cock, and he released his prize long enough to lap away the pearly drop.

“Don’t move,” Gildor cautioned. “I am not done with you, _aníra nín_. I have only begun to taste you, and you are very sweet indeed.” He was thrilled when Glorfindel nodded, watching rapt as Gildor ran his tongue over the head of his cock once more before returning to lapping at his sac. He thought about it for a moment, and then ran the tip of one finger behind the sac, teasing Glorfindel with the lightest of strokes. The gasp he earned was more than worth it.

Glorfindel’s reaction to his touch was exactly what Gildor needed to lose himself, and he moved up to pay attention to that magnificent cock, teasing and caressing with his tongue before taking Glorfindel into his mouth. His length and girth ruled out much, but Gildor made up for that with experience and enthusiasm, making full use of his tongue, using his hand to complete the sensation for his lover, and letting Glorfindel hit the back of his throat again and again.

The moans that floated down the bed to him were like music to his ears, especially when they got louder, and he knew that he could - and would - make Glorfindel come like this. Since they had bathed, Glorfindel tasted of clean water, but for the precome that leaked from him, which Gildor treated like sweetest nectar. He truly did taste wonderful, and Gildor worked hard to get more of it, until he heard his lover call out his name, and he knew it was now.

One of his hands was busy fondling Glorfindel’s balls, so he felt it when they drew up and he knew the moment was upon him. He sealed his lips over Glorfindel as he came, squeezing the orgasm out of him as he swallowed everything the warrior could give him.

Glorfindel’s voice broke over his name, and he shivered with the knowledge of how he had been able to bring Glorfindel to this state. Thus far it had been Glorfindel taking control, but it was intoxicating to know he had a few surprises yet for his lover. No one else had made a claim on his heart, but he had enjoyed making love with all his partners. This, however, surpassed anything he had known in the past.

He gave a last suck, making sure he had not missed a drop, and looked up at Glorfindel. “Much sweeter than that fig,” he murmured, and watched Glorfindel’s cheeks flush with hectic colour. “You might become my new favourite dessert.” The last of the wine he had drunk at dinner, and the small glass of miruvor which had undone all the good of the bath in sobering him, combined to make him feel bold.

He was still settled between Glorfindel’s thighs, having no great desire to move yet. One hand absently fondled his lover’s balls, the weight of them diminished somewhat, yet they remained heavy in his palm. The warrior’s magnificent cock had softened, but it was still suitably impressive as it lay across his powerful thigh. Feeling playful, he pressed a kiss to the crown, and heard Glorfindel suck in a breath above him.

“And you call me wicked,” Glorfindel murmured as Gildor kissed his way slowly up the warrior’s body, pausing to explore the shape of his abdominal muscles. Gildor hummed with pleasure - Glorfindel really was a dream made real.

The heavy, hot feeling of his erection intensified as he gloried in his further exploration, and he lost his focus once or twice as his cock dragged pleasurably along Glorfindel’s muscled thigh. Glorfindel actually growled. Gildor ignored him, for now.

“Move your head this way,” he said, and his lover acquiesced, leaving him free to nibble gently at an exposed ear.

“Is this revenge?” Glorfindel asked, and now he sounded far less dangerous. His voice was slightly breathy - a thing that Gildor wouldn’t have believed possible until now. It made a sudden smile break out on his face, and kept him from his task for a few seconds. When he resumed, he suckled lightly at the tip of Glorfindel’s ear.

“ _Ai!_ ” Glorfindel gasped, and he sounded utterly helpless. “You are a tease, Gildor!” he managed.

Gildor paused in his current occupation long enough to whisper. “So what if I am?” he queried. “I do not recall you setting any rules, oh, mighty balrog slayer. Too late now.” And he went straight back to suckling tenderly, dragging one of Glorfindel’s hands down to touch him.

He could not quite believe he had Glorfindel at his mercy, but it was so. The warrior offered himself up to his explorations without protest, although he was quite sure this would not be a frequent thing. It made it all the more sweet, he decided, and so he teased the graceful point of his lover’s ear while Glorfindel closed a large hand around him.

“Oh, yes, just like that,” Gildor purred in encouragement. He wondered if he would be allowed to have Glorfindel, or if it would be pushing his lover too far. He had always been comfortable with both taking and being taken, but he suspected Glorfindel was not as willing to be taken. This, though, this game of touches and tastes was far too enjoyable to stop just yet.

He glanced down, and saw the gleam of his precome on Glorfindel’s thumb. Acting on a wicked impulse, he released his lover’s ear and tugged Glorfindel’s hand up. “Taste me,” he directed, and he was dizzy with delight when Glorfindel cleaned his own thumb with long, lascivious licks.

Their gazes caught and held. Glorfindel’s eyes were a deeper blue as he finished licking his thumb. Gildor darted his eyes to the side, seeing how Glorfindel’s ear tip was a deep pink, shining wetly in the light. Beneath him Glorfindel actually shivered.

“No!” Glorfindel gasped when he moved to resume teasing all over again, and the next thing he knew he was on his back. Glorfindel held his wrists in his hands, his weight bearing down on his forearms, beneath which Gildor’s elbows were pressed into the bed. Glorfindel’s legs had wrapped around his in such a way he could not move them. He could not move at all, try as he might, except for his head.

Gildor stretched his neck out, eyes still on that tender ear tip, but it was hopeless. “Spoilsport,” he muttered, frowning. Glorfindel sighed, and he might be coming back to himself if the look in his eyes was any indication. They slowly cleared while Gildor struggled helplessly.

“You could at least finish what you began,” he said, looking down at his cock mournfully. His plea earned him a startled look, and then a rich chuckle which made him ache even more.

“Oh, could I? After all of your teasing?” Glorfindel looked him over, and he squirmed harder. “I think I like you better like this, pinned beneath me and awaiting my pleasure.”

“Wicked, wicked elf. There was no rule about not teasing you.” He tried to lift his hips, seeking friction, and tossed his head in an effort to gain a little more freedom.

“Perhaps I need to make one, my captive beauty. I really do like seeing you like this, open and eager.” Glorfindel’s eyes were clear again, and he welcomed the return of his lover, even if he had been enjoying his turn a great deal. “And I will admit, you have a very talented mouth. I will remember that.”

He felt a rush of pride. He had pleased Glorfindel enough to register, even in that sweet daze. He could not help a smile, and Glorfindel chuckled again. “You like hearing praise, do you? Well, then. Let us see if you can earn some more praise.”

Gildor made one more attempt to move, clenching his teeth to aid him as he tried to fight Glorfindel’s weight on him, but it was impossible, and he relaxed with a sigh.

“How would I earn it?” he asked, deciding that there was nothing else but to go along with this game. He liked games, but suspected this one would be difficult to bear. He resisted the urge to call Glorfindel ‘wicked’ again, just in case it was the difference between receiving mercy or not.

Glorfindel grinned, and then Gildor knew he really was in trouble. “We can begin with obedience,” Glorfindel said slowly. “I will release you, and you will stay where you are.”

That sounded all too easy. What was he planning? Gildor nodded, and that heavy weight was lifted from his arms as Glorfindel let go of his wrists. He stayed still as Glorfindel rifled through a drawer at the side of the bed, and when he straightened, he held up some lengths of satin.

“Give me your hands,” he ordered, and Gildor swallowed audibly. When he held them out, they were shaking. All he could think of was being restrained, at Glorfindel’s mercy, probably while Glorfindel took him again. The idea made him feel faint.

Glorfindel wound the satin around his wrists, binding them together neatly. Gildor did not dare to test the strength of the binding. Instead, he remained as still as possible, grateful the satin was not tight enough to hurt. His breath came in short pants, and his eyes were wide as he watched Glorfindel.

A second length of satin was then drawn through the headboard, in between the carved vines and leaves. His mouth felt dry, and he swallowed again to try and coax forth a little saliva.

Glorfindel frowned slightly, and he tried not to shiver. “Are you afraid?”

“No.” The answer came quickly, and Glorfindel’s frown deepened.

“Nothing I have done has hurt you, and nothing I will do is meant to hurt you, at least not in a manner which should inspire fear. Do you trust me?”

Gildor opened his mouth to reply, and then closed it again. It was a reasonable question, but he was not at all sure he wanted to answer it quickly. Instead he took a careful breath, willing himself to relax.

Of course the problem was that he was afraid. Not in the way Glorfindel seemed to think, but still… and he didn’t want to admit to it. He was not prepared to go that far yet. He was afraid because he knew he’d lost himself once or twice in Glorfindel’s arms, and he could not imagine how that would feel if he was also restrained. Glorfindel was like a force of nature.

But then, he also recalled how he’d felt safe. Ultimately, Glorfindel would never harm him in any way. Gildor smiled. “I trust you,” he said, and there must have been enough truth in it, because Glorfindel kissed him quickly, then continued to secure his wrists to the head of the bed.

Once it was done, the fluttery nervousness decreased, and Gildor felt much calmer. His body was exposed and he was defenceless as Glorfindel’s large palms skimmed over his chest and stomach. His hands were warm and dry, and as Gildor closed his eyes it seemed almost more like an examination than a caress. Maybe Glorfindel was testing for weaknesses? That thought made a shiver run through him, and he gasped before he could bite his lip and keep it in.

“ _Mîr nín_ , if you cannot do this, you must tell me.” Glorfindel’s voice was tender and his hands stilled on Gildor’s body. “ _Lendeth nín_.”

He did not want to open his eyes, and see his lover’s face. He wanted to imagine for himself the expression Glorfindel wore. His voice was barely a whisper. “I want to do this. Please…”

Glorfindel hummed an assent, and his large, strong hands resumed their explorations, sliding over his belly and down his flanks. He managed not to moan, but he felt a wetness on his belly and knew it to be his own precome. The need was growing with every pass of Glorfindel’s hands, and he wondered if he could find release without being touched at all. If it were possible, he had no doubt Glorfindel would make it happen.

Despite his growing tension, and the tightness in his balls, his breathing slowed and he let himself relax under his lover’s hands. He had surrendered control. Nothing had been taken from him that he had not willingly given, and he gave himself over to the moment. What would come was out of his hands, but he would trust Glorfindel.

When he felt Glorfindel pushing his legs wide, he could not keep in a whimper, and he opened his eyes despite himself as he felt fingertips trailing lightly over his inner thighs. It felt fantastic, and he moaned, his eyes half-open, looking at Glorfindel who had settled in a kneeling position between his legs.

“Touch me,” he begged, “please.” He could feel the heat of his cock as it rolled around on his lower body, and surely Glorfindel would not ignore his need forever? He twisted his hands in the binding, to no avail, all while Glorfindel watched him.

“I thought you wanted me to taste you?” Glorfindel asked, and Gildor stilled immediately, his eyes widening now. He did not move nor make a sound, in case that would change his lover’s mind. Glorfindel licked his lips, but then instead of bending over Gildor’s body, those large hands slid beneath him, lifting his lower body so that Glorfindel had only to incline his head.

He had not realised how strong Glorfindel truly was, to hold his weight like that. But his biceps bulged as he did it, leaning over to lick with the flat of his tongue. How easy it was for him to watch like this! Gildor cried out at the touch of that wet tongue, and his legs kicked out at the empty air.

“Easy, _mîr nín_.” Glorfindel licked again, his tongue sliding from the base to the crown, and Gildor could not look away. Glorfindel reminded him of a great, golden hunting cat, intent on its prey, and toying with it for its own amusement. He was as hapless as prey, a mouse in his lover’s claws, but he would not have changed a thing, not when Glorfindel’s tongue was doing such things to him.

He was panting again, struggling not to keen as that beguiling tongue worked its magic. He was lost in a whirlwind of sensations, his wrists firmly bound and any hope of leverage removed. All he could do was submit, offer up his willing surrender in the hopes of absolution, of release. The tip of Glorfindel’s tongue danced across the crown of his cock, dipping to flick over the tightened, sensitive fold of skin there, and his voice broke on the cry which was dragged from him.

“Please…” he begged, his voice shivering into what might have been a sob. He was exposed, beyond any hope of hiding, but he did not dare voice the emotion which filled him. He would not say the words, not so soon, not like this.

Glorfindel caught the head of Gildor’s cock with his lips, and from this angle he had a perfect vision of the dark cavern of Glorfindel’s mouth before he was sucked slowly inside, warm lips tight over his skin. At the same time, Glorfindel lowered him back down to the bed, and the restoration of his equilibrium made it feel as though he was sliding deep inside somewhere. So perfect.

“Oh, Glorfindel,” he said, his own voice so deep he could feel it vibrate in his chest. For a second or two, the warrior paused, and then his lips began to drag up. This time it was a high-pitched hitch of breath that came from him.

To his dismay, Glorfindel did not continue, but pulled away and raised his head, freeing his hands from beneath Gildor’s weight. Gildor closed his eyes and let his head fall back. “Wicked tease,” he complained, and he knew he was right. From what he had seen, Glorfindel didn’t usually play with his food. He opened his mouth to say it, but Glorfindel’s next gentle touch forestalled him.

He hadn’t realised Glorfindel had taken the oil down the bed with him until he felt one thick finger, slippery with it, tracing a path up the ridge of his cock. Gildor tossed his head, refusing to look as Glorfindel slowly painted his entire cock with oil, though he knew his cock twitched and danced for Glorfindel. At last he felt the warrior’s fingers form into a loose ring around him, and he couldn’t help thrusting up into that light grip, not quite enough to satisfy him.

Glorfindel’s chuckle was as infuriating as it was thrilling, and he tried to thrust up even more, desperate for sensation. He yanked a little against his bonds to no avail, a whimper escaping him. “Please, please,” he begged, his hips twisting. Glorfindel anticipated every move, and his touch never tightened enough to give him what he sought.

Even without the stimulation he wanted, Gildor found himself moving ever closer to the edge. He was panting again, his skin heated and slick with sweat. This was what he sought, every sensation clear and distinct. He was aware of the faint movement of air across his skin, and the sound of oil as his cock slid over it. He could taste his own tears when he licked his lips, but he still refused to open his eyes.

While one of Glorfindel’s hands continued with the teasing, the other moved beneath him, further back, fingers slick with the same oil. It was a slow thing this time, those fingers merely slid between his buttocks, not entering him straight away. Instead it almost seemed as if Glorfindel was only massaging him there, the pads of his oiled fingers slipping over that intimate place time and again, until he wanted them dreadfully.

When they did penetrate him, that too was slowly done. It didn’t matter which way he turned his body, or how he moved, he could not seem to get any real relief.

“Glorfindel…” he moaned, and he was proud of managing to say his lover’s name, since his body was an unbearable riot of sheer need.

“Look at me,” Glorfindel said, and Gildor struggled to do as he was bid, opening his eyes and trying to keep his head still. Glorfindel stared at him, his gaze intense. “Now or later,” he said. “The choice is yours.”

“Now!” he gasped. “Please…” At last those hands gave him what he wanted, and there was suddenly a firm grip around his cock, while the fingers moved deeper inside him, touching him exactly where he wanted them. It did not take Glorfindel long, and Gildor really was incoherent when he came, though he did manage to call out Glorfindel’s name again, he was certain.

It took longer than he expected to come back to himself. He could feel the stickiness on his belly, and the heat of Glorfindel, so close to him, murmuring gentle words of praise into his damp hair.

“You are so beautiful like this, _mîr nín_. You take my breath away when you give yourself over to me so completely.” Glorfindel’s voice was soft, but it resonated through Gildor like the beating of a drum. It took a moment to understand it was his own heartbeat he heard.

Thick, warm fingers smoothed his hair back from his face, and stroked over his cheekbones, coming away damp. He swallowed, licked his lips, and tried to think of something to say, to explain how he felt, what he felt.

“Glorfindel…” It seemed sufficient, and he smiled, suddenly lethargic. He blinked, and his eyes fluttered closed, trusting his lover to hold him close while he remembered how to be.

 

To be continued...

 

**Author's Note:** We hope you had fun! Oh, but our two elves aren't finished yet. More next week. Go on and leave a comment – you know you want to! :)

 

**Translations:**

_mîr nín –_ my treasure

_lendeth nín –_ my sweet

aníra-nín – my desire


	6. Chapter Six

**Chapter Six**

Once he was aware enough, Gildor wanted to return that loving embrace, but realised his hands were still secured above his head. He pulled at them - to draw Glorfindel’s attention to it rather than to struggle - but he was not set free.

The warrior’s warm chuckle rippled over him like a touch, making him shiver in new awareness. “Oh, my captive beauty,” Glorfindel said, amused. “We still have business before you earn your freedom.”

As he spoke, he turned his body slightly, and something hot and heavy came to rest on Gildor’s thigh. His breathing quickened, and he moaned, feeling a rush of something in his lower body, but not enough. It was too soon, and he was spent. _Now or later._ This was later. He opened his eyes, only to find Glorfindel gazing at him, and whatever Glorfindel saw there made him roll over completely to trap Gildor beneath him.

He let out a breathy moan, Glorfindel having moved so quickly he had not even had time to open his legs. He tried to arch upward anyway, wanting to feel Glorfindel’s cock against him. His bound wrists prevented him from touching any other way.

“Please,” he tried, his eyes never leaving Glorfindel’s face. He could not imagine anything more beautiful.

“Please, what?” Glorfindel responded. He sounded amused to Gildor. “What is it you desire? Do you want me to describe what business we have yet before us? Very well.” His large hands began to explore anew, remapping territory he thought would have been more than familiar by now. “You have been very wonderfully obedient, and you have surrendered with such pleasing grace. I trust you were rewarded appropriately.”

He nodded carefully, warmed by the suggestion of a smile which curved Glorfindel’s lush mouth.

“Now it is my turn, _mîr nín_. Now I will please myself, and I do not intend to hurry. I will fill you, and drive you to the edge of pleasure over and over again, until I am ready to find my own release. I will feast on your cries, and delight in your helpless writhing.” Glorfindel’s voice was low and silken, a dark and seductive purr. As he listened, as he was being stroked and opened, he felt a response which should have been impossible, and he ghosted another moan.

He trembled, but it was from desire, from a desperate need for Glorfindel’s words to translate into reality. Perhaps it was the bindings Glorfindel had used on him, but suddenly the idea of existing for Glorfindel’s pleasure was appealing to him.

His legs were open now, with bent knees, the way Glorfindel seemed to like. It was a posture that opened his body to the fullest extent, and he knew he was ready. Glorfindel was covering himself with oil, and Gildor found himself imagining impossible things. Who had sent Glorfindel back? Had they foreseen this, foreseen them? Did they tell of it? Did they whisper dreams into Glorfindel’s ear as he slept on the long journey back to Middle Earth?

What he knew was that when Glorfindel eased inside him, it made his body burn with desire, and there was no fear. He imagined himself promised as a reward for Glorfindel’s deeds; not just his body but all the love in his heart. His eyes were closed, but when he heard Glorfindel whisper his name, it didn’t seem so impossible after all.

“Use me, _ogol ellon nín_ ,” he said. “Take your pleasure, _melethron_. I want it too.”

He could feel himself responding already, filling and thickening, even if he would never match the splendour of his lover. Glorfindel purred as he stroked Gildor, encouraging his response. “Oh, yes, you do want it, most precious treasure that you are. But even as much as you want to please me, I do not think you will last as long as I desire.”

“I can last.” He hurried to reassure his lover, but a finger over his lips stopped any further outburst.

“I am not trying to insult you, my fierce beauty. I want you on my terms, though, and if I choose to use aids, or devices, such as the bindings holding you to my bed, I will do so.” Glorfindel fondled his sac, and he moaned as he came alive in his lover’s hand.

Glorfindel released him, and he sighed with the loss, until he felt something slide over his skin. It was cool, but warmed quickly as Glorfindel lifted his sac and wrapped it beneath his balls, and over his shaft. “What are you doing?” he asked.

“Ensuring you will last.” The words did little to explain, but soothed him anyway.

At last Glorfindel seemed happy to move and begin, and Gildor moaned an affirmative, enjoying the helpless feeling of being restrained. It seemed as if he was completely helpless. Even the oil made his body defenceless, so that Glorfindel - despite his size - slid in and out of him in a smooth, easy motion, skimmed over the internal muscle. It felt so good Gildor was sure, despite his reassurance, he would not last like this.

He was sweating again, but he felt hot, and the way Glorfindel was leaning over him only added to it. And then he was sure it was happening. His body seized as Glorfindel continued to fuck him, and it lasted, and lasted. Gildor was sure he almost screamed, and soon a large hand was covering his mouth to keep him quiet. Beneath that hand he was still feeling it, as if he were hurtling over the edge.

“There. That is better,” Glorfindel said, ending his words with a nearly silent moan of appreciation as Gildor shuddered and almost broke apart beneath him. Gildor could feel himself, and that he was still hard. It didn’t seem possible.

After another minute or so of the most intense pleasure, he felt it rising in him again, and this time he really did struggle. It was impossible not to, however much he wanted Glorfindel, and yet it was easy for the warrior to hold him still for it, grasping his legs and leaning close so that Gildor could do nothing but take it, endure it.

Pleasure was skirting perilously close to pain, and he heard a soft whining sound. It took a moment to attribute the sound to himself. Glorfindel changed the angle of his thrusts, and while he was no less full, the hotness subsided just a little, and he could breathe again. “ _Ai, Iluvatar,_ ” he moaned, tossing his head in helpless surrender.

He was sweaty enough that his hair stuck to his cheeks, and he felt tears leaking slowly from the corners of his eyes. He could not fathom how Glorfindel could last for so long, even if he had brought his lover to completion with his mouth. He had lost his grasp on time, though, and for all he knew, it could have been hours since then. He did not want it to stop, but he was not sure if he would be able to handle much more.

“Do not fight it,” Glorfindel murmured, brushing away the damp locks from his face. “Let go, and I will be there to catch you.” He leaned forward to feather a kiss over Gildor’s sweaty brow.

He did not know what Glorfindel wanted of him, and he did not have thought to spare to wonder about it. All he knew was the way Glorfindel was moving in him, and how his body responded to that. He did not have to think about it, and from the overload of sensation he was worried he might be bearing down, but then he also yielded. In fact, it felt as if his body was caressing Glorfindel, alternately squeezing and inviting.

“Oh, yes,” Glorfindel praised. “That is it, _bain nín_.” The warrior let go of a deep moan as he continued, but he was close now, and he only managed a handful of movements before the fluidity of his rhythm began to falter. He was bigger now, and harder. Gildor felt another impossible crest approaching, and his breathing stuttered desperately.

Perhaps he wasn’t fully conscious, but as the pleasure claimed him, he had flashes of what was happening to him. Glorfindel leaving his body, and hands undoing both of the restraints placed upon him tenderly. Glorfindel’s voice, as coaxing and encouraging as his hand. As warm as that, and this time Gildor knew he’d made it past the point from before. His climax was so absolute he was only half aware of crying out, of clutching Glorfindel’s arm with his freed hands, his nails digging deep into his lover’s skin.

He drifted for a time, lost in the sweet pleasure of his release, and in the knowledge he had brought his lover to that edge as well. He could feel the heat from Glorfindel’s release deep within him, and the warmth of strong arms around him. He smiled, and turned his face to nuzzle Glorfindel’s powerful chest. More warmth, and the steady reassurance of a beating heart anchored him as firmly as the satin which had encased his wrists.

It was far too much effort to try to comprehend the soft words Glorfindel crooned into his ear. The tone was loving, and it was sufficient to make him smile again. He had pleased his lover. Nothing else mattered, not now. He had seen more of himself than he believed possible, had achieved things he would never have conceived of before Glorfindel. He sighed, and let himself drift again, lost in the slow unwinding from the dizzying pinnacle to which he had been brought.

When he surfaced again from his lazy dreams of passion, he began to roll over onto his side, thinking to move closer to the intoxicating heat that was Glorfindel. Movement woke all the tender places from their earlier games, and he hissed a little at the reminder of how well he had been used thus far. He felt the rumble of Glorfindel’s rich chuckle as he nuzzled into hard muscle graced with downy gold.

“Wicked elf,” he murmured, then smirked secretly, face pressed into Glorfindel’s chest so that he would not see it. “I think that we shall both have to bathe again,” he said, then noted a kind of quickening in Glorfindel. He shook his head sharply, so that his lover would feel it. “Separately!”

Gildor would have moved away slightly, if he could, if his body wasn’t so utterly worn out. While he did not think he was in any danger from a recovered Glorfindel yet, recent experience told him he shouldn’t expect too long.

Perhaps Glorfindel had always been like this. Perhaps that was why he kept so many lovers before - because a single elf could not hope to satisfy his demands. That thought made Gildor gulp, because it seemed things were different now.

_I am only concerned with you._

“Ahem,” he began, clearing his throat because the thoughts he was having seemed to have thickened it somehow. “I wonder if you might see your way clear to allowing a body to recover before you continue in your ploy to get me hopelessly addicted to you.”

That chuckle again, and it resonated through them both. Gildor smiled, his mind resilient, bouncing back quickly from the test Glorfindel had put him through. “How long?” asked Glorfindel eventually.

Something in Gildor was dancing around in glee. This was too easy! Glorfindel might have the upper hand in certain physical ways, but it was going to be such fun winding him up. “Oh,” he said, as if deliberating. “I think I will be good, once the moon has waxed and waned three times.”

“Three times.” Glorfindel rolled the words around in his mouth, and made them sound like a dirge. “Three full turnings of the moon. Have I used you so roughly, then?” There was concern now, and it made him shiver, just a little. Glorfindel made it almost effortless.

“I am only a simple elf, and not a sturdy warrior.” He sighed a little, one hand creeping up to rest against Glorfindel’s chest. “There is just so much I can take, despite all my good intentions. I really would like to become hopelessly addicted to you, though, so I hope you can be patient with me.”

“You should have said something to me sooner, _mîr nín_.” Glorfindel’s tone changed, doubt creeping in. “It is a very long time to wait.”

He wondered if this was a request Glorfindel had encountered before, given how mournful the warrior sounded. He was not about to relent, however. “I suppose you will think I’m not worth the wait.” He sighed again. “I really could not fault you if you changed your mind about me.”

“Changed my mind?” Glorfindel echoed, and suddenly the warrior’s arms tightened around him, pulling him even closer. Now the chuckle was back. “I do not think so,” he said, and Gildor felt a warmth in his heart at the proof of Glorfindel’s passion, even his possessive nature.

At length, Glorfindel sighed. “We will sleep, and in the morning we will rise early enough to bathe with the others.” He sounded somewhat as if he were planning ways to resist temptation, and Gildor almost admitted to his teasing there and then. But no… it would be better in the morning, when he could seduce Glorfindel into it.

Actually, it was quite nice like this, because he could snuggle into Glorfindel’s arms to sleep, head laid on his lover’s shoulder. Gildor yawned as Glorfindel pulled up the covers over them both. It was like a warm and secret world between the two of them, and he drifted off easily once he felt Glorfindel relax, his heartbeat slowing as he succumbed to reverie.

“ _Meleth nín_.” It was a quiet whisper, just on the edge of sleep, a tender wish, a hope, and when the morning came, Gildor could not be sure if he had heard it, or dreamed it.

 

To be continued...

 

**Authors' Note:** Glad you're still with us, we hope you're enjoying this little slashy idyll. Something will come to disturb them soon, always sooner than you'd wish to see it. But there will be a few more games first.

 

**Translations:**

_ mîr nín – my treasure _

_ ogol ellon nín – my wicked elf _

_ melethron – lover  _

_ Ai, Iluvatar – Oh, God _

_ bain nín – my beauty _

_ Meleth nín – my love _


	7. Chapter Seven

###  Chapter Seven

 

The early morning sun roused Gildor from his reverie, his head still resting on Glorfindel’s shoulder. Strong arms held him close, and he could not recall a better morning, at least not in a very, very long time. He turned his head to look at his lover, remembering the whispered words which had seen him off to reverie. He was still not sure if it had been real, or just his deepest wishes manifesting.

 

But right now, it did not matter. He could steal these moments to watch Glorfindel in reverie, all the faint lines smoothed from his handsome face. He truly was the epitome of an elven warrior - strong, bold, and relentless. He very nearly had to smother a small giggle at how relentless Glorfindel could be. He was liable to spend the next turning of the moon on his back, or on his knees, and the thought sent a tingle of warmth through him. In the meantime, he would keep up his pretense of needing more time, and see what other admissions he could coax from Glorfindel.

 

He thought about how he had tried to wake Glorfindel - was it only yesterday morning? It felt like it had been longer somehow. He was not eager to repeat that experience, and it was so pleasantly warm, under the covers, pressed against Glorfindel. He found himself unwilling to expend the effort to move at all.

 

At last he sighed. Unless he planned to just wait here, still, until Glorfindel woke up, he would need to do  _ something _ . As gently as he could, he began trying to extricate himself from the warrior’s grip, which was a more difficult task than it seemed. Even in sleep, Glorfindel seemed to notice that his prize was wriggling away and his grip tightened as he pulled Gildor close.

 

After a few moments of surrender, Gildor tried again, feeling Glorfindel’s arms loosen, and then suddenly it was like a repeat of the previous morning, and he ended up beneath Glorfindel, held captive, the blond warrior wide awake and staring down at him. 

 

“This is going to become a habit with you, isn’t it?” he asked, but he played along and tried to get free while Glorfindel smirked at him. 

 

“Good morning,  _ mîr nín _ ,” he said, letting his weight do the job of holding Gildor down. Gildor struggled, and the only thing he managed was to part his legs so that Glorfindel was more comfortable. He could feel the warrior’s hot erection poking into his thigh, and he wriggled to have it resting in a better place, like alongside his own cock. His thoughts of prolonging the minor deception fluttered out of his head. He wanted Glorfindel again, wanted that feeling of being filled and possessed by him.

 

“Good morning to you,  _ aníra nín _ ,” he replied, managing at least the pretence of a conversation. He could feel Glorfindel’s cock next to his own, and his needy little moan was not in the least bit contrived. “Has the moon waxed and waned three times already? I must have been very tired, to have taken so long a reverie.” His grin was cheeky, and grew wider when Glorfindel growled.

 

“You are impossible, do you know that?” Glorfindel sounded more amused than angered, and perhaps there was even a bit of approval in his voice.

 

Gildor attempted a shrug, thwarted by the greater weight of the elf atop him. “You would not have me any other way,” he said. 

 

It only took one look into Glorfindel’s eyes to see he had managed to hit home with his words. Glorfindel would never be satisfied with an elf who simply acquiesced. He wanted a lover who would challenge him, intrigue him, and delight him. This much Gildor had known. He had not realised, until this very moment, he was the elf who filled all of Glorfindel’s needs. He might well want to be filled and possessed by the blond warrior, but Glorfindel had an equally strong need to possess him, to fill him until there was nothing left but pure sensation, until neither knew where the other began or ended. In this game, they were equals, perfectly matched and ideally suited.

 

“So,” said Glorfindel eventually, “you were toying with me?” As he spoke, he moved a hand up over Gildor’s side, tickling at his ribs so that he writhed and giggled. Once he had found that spot, Glorfindel made it an aim of his to torment, until Gildor was breathless and weak, begging for it to stop. The hand stilled, just the threat of those teasing fingertips resting on Gildor’s waist.

 

“What have you to say for yourself?” Glorfindel asked, smiling. Gildor bit his lip and gave him a pleading look.

 

Glorfindel laughed at his expression. “Do you wish for more,  _ mîr nín _ ?” Gildor shook his head quickly, struggling to escape. “Then speak.”

 

With a helpless sigh, Gildor replied the only way he could. “You make a splendid toy, Glor--”

 

He was cut off by an undignified squeak as Glorfindel went right back to tickling him. “ _ Ai _ !” he cried out, laughing. “I am sorry! I am sorry!”

 

At last, when it was over, Glorfindel regarded him a little more seriously. “Perhaps, since you clearly can not be trusted, I should be the one to decide if your body is recovered enough.” Just the allusion to having Glorfindel inside him was enough to make Gildor moan and attempt to arch up. Glorfindel was so hard! He must want it, just as much. 

 

“I am not sure you are quite as recovered as you claim,” he said then, and Gildor began to protest, looking up into Glorfindel’s eyes, but the warrior spoke over him. “I do not doubt your desire,  _ pen bain _ , only your,” his lips quirked, “capacity.”

 

“And to which capacity do you refer?” He arched a brow, striving to appear composed, while he ached to be taken again by his glorious lover. “My capacity to endure tickling? Or my ability to ignore that rather eager bit of your anatomy which is currently prodding me most invitingly?” He widened his eyes in an effort to look innocent. “I think I have demonstrated my capacity to accommodate you.”

 

Now Glorfindel’s lips twitched, and he shifted, as if to move his cock away from Gildor. “I did not mean to prod you, at least not yet.”

 

“I was not complaining!” He arched to maintain contact, foiled by the weight of his lover, and he huffed an exasperated sigh. “You are a most vexatious elf. First you make love to me until I can hardly remember my name, and then you tease me by withholding yourself. Fine, then. We shall go bathe.” He peered at Glorfindel from under dark lashes, to see what effect his words were having. It was very difficult not to smile.

 

Despite his words, Glorfindel seemed quite comfortable, and when he smiled, Gildor felt his heart flip… just a little. “I do not think we are late this morning,” Glorfindel said. “And there is much I can have without the need to ‘prod’ you.”

 

As soon as he had finished speaking, Glorfindel seemed to stretch lazily, his face ending much closer to Gildor’s. “You were made to be kissed. I think I told you that.” 

 

Gildor swallowed, then nodded slightly. “Well, I --” and his sentence was cut off by Glorfindel’s warm lips as they brushed against his.

 

If he was made to be kissed, then Glorfindel was made to kiss him. He had not realised the nuance that could be conveyed by a kiss, until Glorfindel demonstrated it so ably. He was tender, but insistent, and thorough in his explorations, and Gildor yielded gladly. If a kiss could speak, this one said many things, and all of them warmed the heart.

 

His hands stole up to cup Glorfindel’s face, his thumbs tracing the planes and angles to match touch to vision. It was perhaps not as encompassing, but he did feel filled, and yet still eager for more. He managed an ardent whisper, one hand sliding into his lover’s golden curls. “Glorfindel…”

 

To his surprise, Glorfindel’s head moved down suddenly, the weight lifted from him. He blinked, his hands still tangled in his lover’s hair. It was all he could see, but Glorfindel made no attempt to touch or to kiss. 

 

“I know that look you are wearing,” Glorfindel said quietly, “and if I see it, I will be buried in you before the half hour is out.” Glorfindel moved slightly, and a wet tongue flicked out at Gildor’s left nipple, making him gasp. “I can’t get enough of you,” Glorfindel confessed, and moved again, this time it was his right nipple, and Gildor lowered his hands to Glorfindel’s shoulders.

 

“Then look at me,” he said. Glorfindel slowly raised his head, and their gazes caught. Gildor bit his lip for a moment, seeing that intention in his lover again, and he wanted it more than anything. “I can’t get enough of you,” he pointed out. “So I think we’re even.”

 

He could see the very moment when Glorfindel recognized his certainty, when he knew Glorfindel would have him. He felt a flutter deep in his belly, along with a surge of wild joy. Glorfindel’s confession gave him the reassurance he needed. When his lover chuckled, he broke into a smile. “But why must I wait for a half hour?”

 

“Because,  _ bain nín _ , I am busy exploring you.” Glorfindel’s tongue dragged over his right nipple again, and he felt his cock twitch hard. “I find myself frequently distracted by the pleasure of sinking my cock into you, and I am missing out on all these other treats.”

 

He bit his lip again, his eyes widening while his fingers tightened on his lover’s strong shoulders. “Well, then. I suppose I should leave you to it.” Glorfindel’s delighted burst of laughter tickled against his skin.

 

Warm fingers wrapped around his cock, prompting a sudden moan, but Glorfindel’s hand did not move, the rough pad of a thumb sweeping over the head. “Perhaps I should restrain this again,” Glorfindel murmured. “Your body was so sweet and trembling around me last night.”

 

Gildor definitely did not feel as enthusiastic about that prospect as Glorfindel, but he lifted his hips and pressed into that firm grip all the same. The warrior moved back up his body though without reaching for the restraint, which rested on the bedside table still. 

 

“Or maybe I should see how long it takes for you to come with my cock in you,” Glorfindel suggested, and Gildor gulped. “I think you would too, without me touching you at all.” Glorfindel’s lips were touching his ear, and the warrior let go of a little growl of appreciation. It was the sexiest sound Gildor had ever heard, and he shivered.

 

“You would, wouldn’t you?” Glorfindel persisted, and Gildor found himself nodding in agreement.

 

“Yes, I will, I swear it.” He would say anything to have Glorfindel take him again, and his hand reached out blindly to the bedside table for the oil, fingertips pressing on the lengths of satin Glorfindel had used to bind his wrists the night before, and he whimpered in need.

 

Glorfindel looked at him, and his eyes followed Gildor’s hand. “Do you want me to use those? I will admit, I do enjoy seeing you captive beneath me. You yield even more sweetly, I think.”

 

“Not if it would take too long,” he admitted. “Mostly, I want you in me.” His ingenuous response was a surprise even to himself, but it was the truth. He wanted to feel Glorfindel moving inside him, touching him in ways he never expected to be touched. He wanted to feel hot, and sweaty, and to wonder, just at the very last moment, before he came, if he would come apart from the sheer power of his release. He wanted to come back to himself and feel Glorfindel still moving, so deep, and so strong, and he wanted to watch his lover falter just before he too let go.

 

“Oh,  _ mîr nín _ , what you do to me with your words,” Glorfindel murmured, breath hot as he leaned in to nibble the tip of his ear. “You offer me the moon itself, and the stars shine in your eyes. How can I be so blessed, to have you for my own?”

 

Gildor froze as he felt those teeth on him, and his body trembled. His fingers brushed the bottle of oil, and he knocked it over, unable to do anything but moan and arch upwards as his desire for Glorfindel caught in him all over again. At last, the nibbling stopped, and Gildor stretched out his fingers, righting the oil and picking it up.

 

He pressed the bottle into Glorfindel’s hand. “I shall have plenty of words later,” he said pointedly, and with his other hand he reached down, capturing Glorfindel’s impressive erection with his palm, tugging on it lightly until he saw Glorfindel’s eyes close in pleasure. “Get distracted,” he said. Then, because he sensed he was being bossy, he added: “Please.”

 

Glorfindel laughed, deep and rich, and he spilled the oil on his fingers. “Oh, how can I refuse to do your bidding, my fierce beauty?” Gildor did not reply, only let his hand play over Glorfindel’s length, relishing the feel of it in his hand. Soon enough, one of Glorfindel’s fingers was seeking entry inside him, and it was hard, no doubt due to the tension of his body. Gildor drew in a breath and tried to relax.

 

“Every time,” Glorfindel whispered, serious now. “Just like the first time.”

 

Gildor looked into his lover’s eyes, and he almost came undone on the spot. He was quite sure no one had ever looked at him in quite this manner, as if he were the rarest of treasures. All at once, he felt himself settle, and the tension bled away. Glorfindel teased him with an oiled finger, and this time, he felt it press in, working past the last of the tightness.

 

“Easy,” he whispered, shivering a little. “Or to start, anyway.  _ Ai, Iluvatar _ , I do want you.”

 

“I know that you do,  _ bain nín _ .” Glorfindel worked his finger deeper, and Gildor cried out as he felt sweet pleasure wash over him. He clenched around the finger reflexively, and then felt himself relax and open for his lover. “Easy,  _ lendeth nín _ . At least to start.”

 

It did become easier, and he was sore, though not as much as he expected to be. It seemed almost as if his body was becoming used to Glorfindel, and that meant, despite everything, they really did ‘fit together’ as Glorfindel had mentioned that first night. 

 

Gildor let his legs sprawl to either side as Glorfindel added a second finger, and he continued to move his hand over the warrior’s erection, every solid inch of it, until his body and mind were a frenzy of lust again. His hips were moving, encouraging, and he moaned quietly with his eyes closed until he realised Glorfindel was hardly moving those fingers and that he was doing all of the work himself.

 

With a blush of self-awareness, Gildor opened his eyes, and then all at once Glorfindel was kissing him. It was a sweet and tender kiss, not possessive or invasive, and it made him aware of how Glorfindel possessed him below. His fingers, deep inside, and it felt for a moment as if Glorfindel held him in the palm of his hand. Gildor trembled. 

 

Glorfindel’s kisses continued, and gradually his trembling ceased, until the only thing he could register was the sweet, slow waves of pleasure coursing through him. He was almost ready to let go then and there, but he did his best to resist the pull. His efforts were rewarded when Glorfindel withdrew his fingers, and replaced them with his cock.

 

He could not hold out against the way Glorfindel managed to touch all of him, so deep it beggared belief. But they did fit together, perfectly, and the proof of it was how quickly he succumbed. He tightened around Glorfindel with a helpless cry, and the heat of his release was lost in the fire between them.

 

Still Glorfindel moved, so hard, demanding, insistent, and even though he had found his own release, Gildor knew his body was still responding. He knew he was still open and welcoming, even as the remaining pleasure was tinged with the slightest pain. He welcomed the pain, wanted it, as if he existed only for the way Glorfindel thrust inside him.

 

“Gildor…” Glorfindel moaned on a forward movement and a shudder. He opened his eyes, and Glorfindel had his head down. Gildor used his hands to tilt Glorfindel’s face, so he could look into his lover’s eyes.

 

“Yes,” he said. “Find it in me,” he urged, feeling something fierce come to life in him. “Give it to me. Let me see it.”

 

Glorfindel moaned again, but he was coming. Gildor could feel it, and there was such a look in his eyes. “Mine,” Glorfindel said, as if unaware of the way he spoke. Yet for all of his possessiveness, that look remained. He seemed helpless and lost as he came, and now it was all the other way around from when Glorfindel’s fingers had been inside him. Now he realised the truth; that it was  _ he _ who held Glorfindel. Inside his body, in his hands - Glorfindel’s pleasure. 

 

When they were laid beside each other, Gildor brushed stray curls out of Glorfindel’s eyes. He felt affectionate and happy, and very satisfied. He drew in a deep breath while Glorfindel watched him in silence. “Now we bathe,” he said brightly, and Glorfindel groaned. A heavy hand came to rest on his waist, keeping him still.

 

“In ten minutes,” Glorfindel replied, burying his face in the pillows.

  
Gildor could not refrain from laughing at his suddenly reluctant lover, but he snuggled close for the requisite ten minutes, until he was able to convince the warrior to face the baths and breakfast.

 

To be continued...

 

 **Authors' Note:** Thank you for reading - we hope you're having as much fun as Glorfindel and Gildor. Let us know what you think! We will respond :)


	8. Chapter Eight

**Chapter Eight**

It became a customary thing for them to spend their nights together, lost in the passion all new lovers enjoyed. Theirs ran deeper, however, and as the days passed, Gildor wondered how he had managed before Glorfindel. His wardrobe held some of the warrior’s things, and he had left items of his clothing in Glorfindel’s room. It was a puzzlement to him why they bothered with the fiction of separate rooms.

His joy translated into a renewed enthusiasm for his duties, and while Glorfindel trained and drilled, he flung himself into his tasks with a bright smile. While no one said it in so many words, he was sure he had seen Lord Elrond’s approval in the face of his diligence.

Nights were spent exploring each other, until he was drunk on the feeling of Glorfindel in him, beside him, touching him. There was always that one moment, each time they came together, when he knew he touched Glorfindel just as deeply, and it never failed to send a shiver through him.

Though to others it might seem like a whirlwind had taken them, and perhaps even to Glorfindel himself, to Gildor it was different. He had wanted Glorfindel for so long, dreamed of him, lost him and now at last, they were truly together. To him, it was not fast. To him, it had the same feeling of a good harvest. This love was like the reward of a long labour. It felt happy, just like that.

Since they spent each night together, over the next few weeks Gildor quickly grew used to sleeping with Glorfindel, became acquainted with his habits and quirks, even while he slept. Then, one night, something changed. Gildor was not awoken fully, but there were moments during the night when he almost surfaced from reverie, aware that Glorfindel was restless beside him.

Glorfindel was not given to tossing and turning. The warrior partook of rest like he did his food. He invariably found some comfortable position, usually sprawled over most of the bed, one arm draped comfortably over Gildor, then slept peacefully until the morning.

It was strange to wake without Glorfindel holding him or touching him in some way, and that morning, Gildor turned over to face his lover, only to find Glorfindel laid on his back staring at the ceiling, wide awake.

“You are certainly the early riser this morning,” he said, moving closer to his lover. He was surprised when Glorfindel flinched. “What is it?”

Glorfindel did not respond, and he saw the warrior’s hands, clenched into tight fists and pressed against strong thighs as though Glorfindel was holding himself in check.

Now he was alarmed, and he raised himself on one elbow to look more closely at Glorfindel. “ _Aníra nín_?” He reached out his hand, and cried out in surprise when his wrist was seized in a painful grip. He yanked his hand back sharply, scrambling to sit up.

It seemed to shake Glorfindel out of whatever held him so in thrall. The blond elf looked at him, wide eyed and as close to afraid as Gildor had ever seen him. He looked at Gildor’s wrist, held fast in his hand, and he released it as though Gildor had become molten. “ _Goheno nín_ ,” he mumbled, his eyes dark with confusion. “I thought… Never mind. It was only a dream.”

“A dream?” Gildor repeated, deeply shocked. Amongst elves, nightmares were so rare they were largely a myth. Gildor himself had never had that kind of dream, though he knew mortals were plagued by them nightly. For them, to sleep was to succumb to a deeper thought, and what dreams there were on those elven paths of sleep were akin to dawdling in harmless memories. Dreams were had by choice.

With a nervous flutter in his heart, Gildor reached out and brushed gentle fingers against Glorfindel’s face. “Where did you wander?” he asked, without expecting an answer, only concerned with bringing Glorfindel fully back from that place, wherever it was. It did not suit Glorfindel to be ill at ease or afflicted.

“Gondolin,” Glorfindel replied, and Gildor shook his head, remembering the horror of the city falling. Glorfindel had witnessed such terrors there. “I did not choose it,” Glorfindel continued helplessly. “It was as though I were trapped there. I could not return to you.” He shuddered, his large and muscular frame trembling.

“Shhh…” Gildor soothed, pressing close to share his body heat, to share himself, and the comfort of his own _fëa_ , hoping it would alleviate Glorfindel’s distress. He didn’t really expect Glorfindel to respond, but suddenly his lover held him close, clutching at him tightly as if in a passion. Gildor gasped.

“You…” Glorfindel said on another wracking shudder. “You are safe.”

“We are safe,” he said, his voice gentle. “We are both safe.” He held onto Glorfindel as fiercely as he was held, feeling the wild beating of his lover’s heart against his skin. “Do not dwell on those thoughts. It was another time, and a place long lost to us. Let us stay in this place, where we have each other.”

He could feel some of the awful tension easing, but not enough, not yet. Glorfindel buried his face in Gildor’s neck, his breathing still too fast and too shallow for his liking. He could not imagine what would have brought this on, or why Glorfindel had been unable to control the direction of his dreams. Were it not for the protections woven into the very fabric of Imladris, he would have suspected some foul magic. He still remembered the feeling of evil which had pervaded his peace in the days before the fall of Gondolin, and his narrow escape, and he knew Glorfindel had seen far, far worse.

Gildor turned his head to press a tender kiss to Glorfindel’s golden hair, brushing the tresses back so he could kiss his lover’s temple. Glorfindel’s skin was clammy with sweat, and the brush of his lips over slick skin brought out a fresh shudder in the warrior.

Little by little, Glorfindel calmed, until he got up and sat on the side of the bed, his body hunched over, his head in his hands. Gildor continued to soothe him, one hand stroking gently over his lover’s back until the trembling stopped. Glorfindel breathed deeper, steadying, then he straightened. Glorfindel looked at him, and this time Gildor knew that he was seen properly at last.

Glorfindel’s hand touched his face, fingers under his chin, raising his head. He did not smile. The warrior kissed him on the lips, quickly. It was not a lover’s kiss, not this time, but something entirely affectionate. “I do not know what that was,” Glorfindel said at last, “but you are here with me, and you can’t know how much that means.”

They did not profess their love openly to each other, and this had the same feeling to it, behind the words. Gildor swallowed, staring into Glorfindel’s eyes, then ducked his head and snuggled close, his cheek against his lover’s chest. He felt those arms close around him, and it seemed as if they had regained some kind of solid ground.

“Now I feel better,” said Glorfindel, with a trace of his usual humour, and Gildor knew he felt that same return of certainty too.

They bathed, and broke their fast, the mood tender and full of easy intimacy which Gildor found quite appealing. His desire for Glorfindel had not abated, but this was a deepening of their relationship which he welcomed.

After they had eaten, Glorfindel proposed a walk in the gardens, and he agreed with alacrity. He steered Glorfindel to a fountain he quite liked, with marble benches placed in the most appealing spots, and they sat with their fingers tangled to enjoy the morning’s warmth. Glorfindel seemed content to sit without conversation, his eyes half closed as he basked like a great, golden cat in the sun, to Gildor’s amusement.

It could not last all morning, however, and Gildor sighed as he tightened his fingers around his lover’s hand. “I really do need to do some work this morning. Lord Elrond asked for the maps of the lands around Elostirion to be updated. I should attend to that.”

“So, you would rather spend the morning with ink on your fingers, and gilt on the tip of your nose again?” Glorfindel’s tone was light, and laughter his behind his words, lifting Gildor’s heart. “Will you get so lost in your maps, I will need to come and drag you away for supper?”

For all that Glorfindel was teasing, he did tend to get quite carried away with his work. It was a passion that he could not help. Gildor grinned and leaned on Glorfindel, nuzzling at him. “Don’t leave me until supper,” he said. “Drag me away before then.” He felt Glorfindel’s laugh as well as heard it.

“If you carry on like that, I’ll drag you away right now!”

Gildor immediately sat up straight, looked at his lover, then went right back to pressing himself against Glorfindel’s side. The warrior gave a low little growl that made Gildor’s blood quicken. Now that everything had calmed, he had missed the way their mornings always began.

“I will be late,” Gildor said, but it wasn’t really a protest. He nosed at Glorfindel’s earlobe, his lips skimming the velvet skin just there. All of a sudden, Glorfindel stood up and grasped his hand.

“Then you will be late,” Glorfindel announced, and began to stride back to the house, forcing Gildor to hurry to keep up. It was very much like being dragged away, and with every step, he felt brighter, more purposeful, until he knew they were racing each other back to the house, and to their rooms; the closest of them would do.

They were laughing as they burst through the door, out of breath from the run. Gildor didn’t even give his lover time to glance around before he had Glorfindel in his arms, lips on his, determined to steal this time before work for them both.

Glorfindel’s fingers skimmed over the fastenings of his clothing, stripping him with familiar ease. He contemplated, for a fleeting moment, returning the favour, but holding Glorfindel was far too nice, and Glorfindel was already working on his own garments anyway.

Clothing littering the floor around them, Glorfindel backed Gildor to the bed. Gildor let himself fall back, his legs parting as he sank into the bedding. His body was already relaxing, although he reached for the oil. His hand met Glorfindel’s hand, closed around the small vial.

“So very eager, are we?” Glorfindel teased. “Is it me you want, or to hurry through this so you can play with your maps?”

Gildor laughed. “Wicked elf. You know I’d rather play with you.” His hand found Glorfindel’s hard cock, and he pressed his palm against the magnificent girth of it. “Make me ready for you, and I will show you exactly how much I’d rather play with you.”

By necessity, they slowed down for this part, with Glorfindel taking all the care and attention Gildor needed so that his body would accept Glorfindel’s cock. Even after the time they had spent together, it was still as encompassing and intense. It still made Gildor falter somehow when he finally felt Glorfindel inside him.

“ _Ai_!” he gasped, feeling his eyes prickle with reflexive tears. Glorfindel stilled above him, looking down in sudden sharp concern.

“Too much?” he asked, and Gildor shook his head.

“I cannot spare thought to answer,” he replied, breathless. “Don’t make me,” he pleaded, and his lover smiled because he knew it was all right.

Gildor felt pinned like a butterfly, caught in a timeless moment - Glorfindel’s possession. Though he had loved them, none of his previous partners had made him feel like this, yet Glorfindel did it to him every single time. There wasn’t room for anything within him except for what Glorfindel was doing, how he sounded when he groaned in appreciation, how he felt when he surged so powerfully forward. It made Gildor want to beg for mercy, but he did not.

“Before we are done here,” Glorfindel confided as he moved slowly in and out, drawing thrilled whimpers of pleasure from Gildor’s throat. “I should like to have you on your hands and knees again.” Gildor moaned, shuddering slightly. They had tried it a few times, and when they did Gildor felt so deeply owned that it would affect him for the rest of the day. It made him physically and emotionally sensitive, as if he were just waiting for Glorfindel’s touch to begin anew.

Glorfindel’s chuckle confirmed he had gotten exactly the reaction he wanted from Gildor. He knew he was hopelessly transparent, but really, did it matter? For the first time in his life, he felt completely fulfilled, and that was all he cared about. This elf, his lover, his magnificent Glorfindel.

And even now, he found himself spiralling toward release, unable to think of anything beyond the way every breath showed him new depths of pleasure. Glorfindel was not even holding him, but he could not have moved, would not have moved. He hung on the precipice, his eyes closed tight.

“Glorfindel…” It was a whispered prayer more fervent than any he had offered to the Valar. And then he was soaring and falling, all at once, lost to the bliss of his release.

As he came back to himself he could feel Glorfindel pulling out of him, still hard, which meant he was serious, and Gildor covered his face with his hands. Glorfindel laughed softly at him. Then he felt one large hand, the back of Glorfindel’s fingers sweeping up over his sensitive cock, already softening, and he shivered as those fingers smeared his release on his belly.

When the touch left him, Gildor peeked through the gap between his hands, only to catch sight of Glorfindel sucking on his own fingers, tasting him, and it made Gildor shiver again. “Wicked elf,” he said, his hands falling away so he could watch his lover clean those fingers, clearly making a show of it. When he was done, Glorfindel tapped Gildor’s left hip.

“Turn over,” he suggested, and Gildor could barely move, but he managed it, raising himself up on his hands and knees as his lover wanted. His body was still open, but he relaxed as Glorfindel entered him this way, only to immediately brace himself so that he kept his position.

Glorfindel’s warm palms were on his hips, fingers just curling around his pelvis, holding him steady for it, pulling him back slightly. His lover felt tender and ruthless all at once as he manipulated Gildor’s body, and his thrusts were fast and deep.

He felt unbearably open like this, unable to see Glorfindel’s face. He could only judge by the thrusts, and the nearly bestial sound of flesh meeting flesh. It seemed as though Glorfindel was deep enough to touch his innermost self. He could not help the shivers which rocked him, any more than he could muffle the small grunts as he was taken for his lover’s pleasure.

He realised how intimate it could be when you could not see your lover. It reduced the world to touch, and scent, and the taste of surrender. What shocked him more was how much he wanted to do just that. He wanted to surrender control, to submit himself fully to Glorfindel’s desire, and to know how deeply he claimed his lover each time he did relinquish control like this. He shivered harder with the realisation, one single sob escaping him as reluctance became joy, and joy led to pleasure so profound he almost forgot to breathe.

Above him, behind him, Glorfindel stuttered, his rhythm faltering. He braced himself for the final thrust, when his lover would cry out and bury himself as deeply as possible. He felt the heat of Glorfindel’s skin against his own sweaty flesh, and he thrust back as hard as he could, to take every glorious inch. Glorfindel’s release was even hotter as it filled him. His knees trembled, and nearly gave way, but he held on, to let Glorfindel milk himself dry within him.

Those last movements were so minute, just a tiny tightening of Glorfindel’s fingers, almost a trembling of sensation, and Gildor could almost feel the little jolts that his lover was experiencing. Then, at last, Glorfindel groaned and pulled away. Their bodies made a slick sound as they separated, and Gildor let himself collapse onto the bed just as Glorfindel settled beside him.

He was pulled into his lover’s strong, warm embrace, lips pressing fervently against his hair. Gildor felt so loved, and he smiled against Glorfindel’s shoulder, snuggling close in these stolen moments.

“Settle, _bain nín_ ,” Glorfindel said quietly. “Just for a minute with me.”

To Gildor it was as though they shared the same thought, and he was happy, if left feeling slightly oversensitive and trembling. One large hand stroked down the side of his body, possessive, and he pressed closer, hearing Glorfindel chuckle. He already knew what effect this had on Gildor, that he didn’t want to let Glorfindel go; but they both had to work and it couldn’t be avoided.

When they separated in truth, to go their own ways in Imladris, Gildor watched after Glorfindel with a little sigh before trailing his footsteps to the library. He lost himself in his work, but his body waited for Glorfindel, almost tremulous until they were together again that night, Gildor having indeed worked the day though.

 

To be continued...

 

**Authors' Note:** Thank you for reading – we hope you're enjoying it. Please leave us a word or two!

 

**Translations:**

_Anira nín –_ my desire

_Goheno nín –_ forgive me

_fëa –_ soul 

_bain nín –_ my beauty

 


	9. Chapter Nine

**Chapter Nine**

Gildor was quite startled when Glorfindel appeared in his doorway, clearing his throat loudly. He looked up from the map he was annotating, and put his pen down carefully. “Have you come to distract me?” he asked, his smile bright. “I warn you, I’m quite serious about my work.”

“It is time for supper. Did you not hear the chimes?” Glorfindel frowned at him, and he hastened to reach for a cloth for his fingers.

“I did not,” he admitted, somewhat abashed. “I was trying very hard to get the details right. It is important to be precise.” He sighed. Now that Glorfindel was there, in front of him, he found himself feeling warm, his cheeks burning. “I’m sorry. I’m not too late, am I?”

“If I do not mind dining with an elf who has a smudge of gilt on the tip of his nose, no.” Glorfindel relented just a bit, his frown fading. “I did come by earlier, but you did not see me. Twice.”

He was rubbing at the tip of his nose with his cloth, and he stopped, eyes wide. How could he have been unaware of his lover’s presence? “Twice?” he repeated, still not quite believing he could have been so oblivious.

“Do not fret so, _bain nín_.” Glorfindel did not seem to notice the other elves in the library as they looked up and smiled at the lovers. “You have nothing to apologise for.” He took the cloth from Gildor’s hand and finished wiping away the smudge on his nose. “But I will confess, I do not like it when you neglect yourself. If I had not come for you, you would have missed supper, and gone to bed without a proper meal.”

For a moment, Gildor allowed Glorfindel to admonish him, but then he took the cloth from Glorfindel’s hand and put it back on the desk.

“I see,” he said carefully. “And if that happened,” he continued, “then I should be living my life very much how I have lived it these last centuries without you.” He raised a brow. “And yet I am still here, not having faded away for neglecting myself.”

To his surprise, Glorfindel actually blushed, as if he had been caught out. In fact, he looked very much like a naughty elfling, and Gildor found himself struggling not to laugh. “I only meant,” Glorfindel began, hesitant.

“I know what you meant,” Gildor informed him, then he did laugh. “But I am hungry now.” And for more than just food. Now that Glorfindel was here, his body felt tingly and aware of his proximity.

Unable to resist, he wrapped his arms around Glorfindel and kissed him on the lips. “If you intend to get up to anything tonight, you had better take me to be fed before the kitchens close.” He paused. “Else I shall surely faint in your arms for lack of sustenance!”

At last, with that bit of overacting, Glorfindel seemed to catch on, and he laughed too. “Actually,” he said, a little too smug for Gildor’s liking. “The kitchens are always open to the warriors of Imladris, no matter the time.”

That statement turned out to be quite true, however, and Gildor found himself enjoying a hearty supper to make up for his long day. When he had taken his fill, Glorfindel led him out of the dining hall and back to the nearest of their rooms, which happened to be Glorfindel’s.

Gildor was actually pleased they had wound up in Glorfindel’s room. Perhaps because the warrior was tall, and broad, the staff of Imladris had provided a suitably large bed, and it was well suited for lovemaking. His own bed, while not small, was not quite as imposing, and he often wondered how he had not wound up on the floor when Glorfindel was feeling vigorous.

But for now, his attention was dragged back to the present. Glorfindel wasted no time in securing the door, and he was undressing Gildor with a speed born of practice. Not that he was objecting in the least, of course. He was just as busy working on getting to Glorfindel’s skin. After the day spent without his lover’s company, he was more than ready, a fact which seemed to amuse Glorfindel.

“Wicked elf,” he murmured, as Glorfindel’s hand slid over his arousal teasingly. “I have become far too accustomed to your touch, I think.”

“Tell me you are not complaining.” Glorfindel’s mouth traveled down his ear to the bare column of his throat, coaxing a decidedly wanton whimper from him. “Do you want to have a night alone?”

He yelped as Glorfindel nipped, and then laughed. “I want to be in your bed. Underneath you, crying out your name because it is all I can remember.” His hand found Glorfindel’s thick cock, and his body clenched in anticipation.

Glorfindel made a pleased sound, and Gildor felt those large hands cup his buttocks before he was unexpectedly lifted clear of the floor, causing him to clutch tightly at Glorfindel’s shoulders with an undignified squeak.

“I think that can be arranged,” Glorfindel said, depositing him on the bed carefully. Happily, Glorfindel stayed close, so Gildor went right back to moving his hand up and down his lover’s erection, loving the feel of it with his eyes closed, his other hand reaching up, buried in that gorgeous hair. So he was a little disappointed when Glorfindel pulled his hands away to bind them to the head of the bed again, but he said nothing.

As before, he felt a calmness descend, until Glorfindel produced more of the silken lengths and started on his right knee, binding it out and away from his body, securing that to the bed head as well. Gildor’s heart beat heavily. “What are you doing?” he asked, even though it was quite clear as Glorfindel bound up his other leg in the same fashion, leaving him wide open. And probably quite inviting if the way Glorfindel looked upon him was any indication.

“Just one thing missing,” Glorfindel said without answering him, and Gildor wished he could stop his body from responding when Glorfindel handled his cock, making him hard so he could take the final binding.

When it was all done, and he saw Glorfindel covering his fingers with oil, he heard himself give a long, loud yearning moan. He tried to move, and could not. Only his lower legs could move, but that strangely made him feel more helpless.

“They hear you, you know, my guards,” Glorfindel told him, smiling slightly, surely only teasing. “In the night, here, with me.”

The first touch of his lover’s penetrating fingers usually made him moan, but he swallowed it deliberately in light of this new information. Surely, Glorfindel was only jesting? “They do?” he asked, and while he was sure it wasn’t true, it was all too easy to imagine his cries echoing through Imladris in the night.

Glorfindel pressed in further, thick fingers finding all the most inviting spots. He bit back the needy whimpers as he watched Glorfindel. The warrior’s concentration was absolute, his face lit with a marvellous desire as he guided him into relaxing. He wanted to tell Glorfindel how beautiful he was, but he was reluctant to even whisper.

“They do,” Glorfindel said after a time, and crooked his finger. He was helpless to stop his soft cry of pleasure. “They call you _Dúlinnor_ , you know. They’re quite right. You are my nightingale, and I find your song sweet to my ears.”

He looked up at his lover, helpless and exposed, and the opinion of the guards seemed far less urgent. He pondered what it meant that they heard him in the night. Did they hear the love and desire in his voice? Did his joy make them smile in approval? Surely they would not judge him harshly just for loving. What elf would?

What was important was the way Glorfindel sounded so completely possessive. His nightingale. He would not have it any other way, and the realisation removed another layer of reserve. He had always been the most circumspect of elves, but now he wanted to cry out loudly enough for all of Imladris to hear. Glorfindel moved his finger and he did not hesitate to moan this time.

“There is the song I love,” Glorfindel said, and looked up. “ _Bain nín_. When you look at me like that, I can hardly restrain myself. Tonight, I will not have to. I will have you as often as I wish, and you will sing for me each time.”

He moaned again, desire mixed with a touch of apprehension. He did have limitations, no matter how much he would want to be taken all night long. Glorfindel banished his fears with a gentle kiss.

“Easy, to start, _mîr nín_. Like this.” He felt his lover ease into him, and he gasped with the pleasure of it.

He marvelled at how Glorfindel could still feel so impossibly big every time, but he did. It was all Gildor could think about for a moment as he felt the way his body had to stretch to accommodate it. “ _Valar_ ,” he whispered, “every single time.” It drew a moan from deep in his chest, and to his satisfaction, he didn’t sound at all like a nightingale.

“Just like the first,” Glorfindel replied, and Gildor blinked. He glanced around him at the bindings that held him still and open, flexed his biceps to no avail. “Ai,” he said on a shiver, loving it to be so helpless despite himself. “Not exactly.” Glorfindel chuckled in response, and Gildor was sure there was a note of pure evil in it.

Slowly, Glorfindel pulled back, and he felt every second of it before the warrior thrust back in. This time the sound he made was higher, and it ended on a desperate hum as he pressed his lips together. “No,” he said, resolute, but then Glorfindel did it again, and again, until he could not help himself.

His lover’s hands were beneath his buttocks, holding his body at the perfect angle, and when he chanced to look, Glorfindel was watching the place where they were joined, and then he sighed. “I wish you could see this,” Glorfindel said, then bit his lip and moved again. This time he hit that perfect spot, and a wave of heat raced through him. As he moaned, to his chagrin, he was sure he could hear it echoing off the walls.

In his flustered state, he was sure he heard a few chuckles from the hall, and the whisper of booted feet over the flagstones. In some ways, it was harder to be exposed in this manner, heard but not seen. He could only try to imagine what the guards were thinking, what pictures their minds painted of the activities behind the stout door. Such thoughts would have made him squirm, if it were possible.

His cock was hard enough to ache, and it bounced against his belly as Glorfindel moved. He longed for a bit of friction, until he remembered he was bound there as well. There would be no release until Glorfindel was satisfied. From the look of things, that would not be any time soon.

“Tell me how we look,” he said, desperate to take his mind off the growing heat in his belly.

Glorfindel gave a wicked chuckle. “I’m not a bard. I could not possibly find the words to tell you. But I will tell you this much. You are mine.”

The words were what he needed to find what should have been release. He cried out - how could he not? But there was no peace from this, only a yearning, a longing for completion and the feel of his lover moving within him.

Gildor thrashed, as much as he was able to. His head shook from side to side, and his hands twisted in their binding. His toes scrunched and his legs kicked out, but it changed nothing. “Glorfindel…” he moaned, desperate, and he consciously tightened his body in an attempt to make it stop, but only made it worse. The maddening torment continued until Glorfindel chose to change it, adjusting the angle until Gildor felt the heat subside, just a little.

He breathed heavily, trying to centre himself, and still Glorfindel continued to move back and forth within him. He felt as though he were suspended in a moment of excruciating need and endless pleasure. “Well, that was quite naughty of you, _mîr nín_ ,” Glorfindel said tenderly, not quite chastising him.

“Glorfindel, please!” he begged, and his only response was several hard and fast movements that made him cry out. It was still blissful pleasure, and Gildor couldn’t resent it, but he wondered if his lover was close. He felt hot again, pressure building up, and he knew his body was responding the same way as before, coaxing it from Glorfindel in little rushing flexes of his internal muscle.

Before there could be an end to it, Glorfindel pulled out of him, only to sit back on his heels and palm more of the oil onto his erection. Gildor groaned in dismay, and then pleaded all over again when Glorfindel switched to squeezing his cock, his hand slippery and warm with the oil he had used.

“ _Ai_ , I cannot,” he cried out, and he felt what should have been release, the waves of pleasure wracking him although there was no satisfaction. “Wicked, wicked elf,” he managed to gasp. His cock was as hard as ever, and he tried his best to glare up at Glorfindel.

“Are you complaining, _bain nín_?” The amusement in his lover’s voice should have been infuriating, but Glorfindel was stroking his cock again, and everything else ceased to matter. He could not writhe, not precisely, but he tossed his head and curled his toes in helpless abandon.

“I do not care who hears me,” he said. He panted as Glorfindel’s thumb slid over the tender flesh beneath the head of his cock. “I cannot endure this.” He let his head fall back, and let out a hopeful moan.

“Ah, so you are willing to sing for us all? Very good,” Glorfindel said, nodding decisively. He stroked Gildor a bit faster, until he was biting his lip. “I can’t quite hear you, little nightingale.”

Surrendering, Gildor vocalised his pleasure as if that would stop it from endlessly building in him, but it did not. To his dismay, Glorfindel leaned over and entered him again, and this time he had the experience of feeling Glorfindel’s weight bearing him down, that friction generated by their bodies, centred on his cock.

Still he moaned. Now he had begun, he could not go back to being quiet, and the room rang with his cries as Glorfindel slipped hands under his shoulders to hold him close, the warrior’s tongue tracing the shape of his ear as he turned his head.

When he heard Glorfindel moan quietly into his ear, he shivered, and his cries changed, becoming pleas for Glorfindel to find release. One of his lover’s hands travelled down between their bodies, and at the thought of being teased further, Gildor wriggled helplessly, a sob bursting from him.

Only Glorfindel did not tease him, and he felt that hand release him from the restriction there just before the point where his desperate need would have become pain, and his body surged in joy as he spent in ecstasy between them, crying out Glorfindel’s name. After that he was dazed and barely functioning, but he knew Glorfindel gave him a few more deep thrusts before he came too, only then pulling away and going about the task of untying him.

He felt Glorfindel ease his legs down, rubbing them tenderly before freeing his hands. His wrists and arms were rubbed with the same loving care, and he felt a surge of unbridled love and joy for Glorfindel. He had nothing left but this sweet lassitude, and a desire to be held. His wish was granted moments later, when Glorfindel lay down beside him, to gather him close.

“Did they all hear me?” he murmured, smiling into Glorfindel’s warm chest. He could feel his lover’s hand stroking down his back, strong and soothing.

“If they did, all they heard is what I heard.” Glorfindel’s voice was quiet. “They heard an elf cry out in joy and pleasure, and they knew how very lucky I am to be so well loved.”

He felt his cheeks grow warm, and tears sprang to his eyes. “Did they?” he asked, almost inaudible. Glorfindel heard him anyway, and there was a small hint of uncertainty in his voice.

“I hope I am well loved, in any event.”

“Foolish elf.” He snuggled closer, stifling a giggle. “Of course you are well loved.” He slid his arms around Glorfindel. “Even by me.”

Gildor had only to wait, and sure enough, after a minute or two…

“Wait,” Glorfindel said. “Even?”

Again, he had to stifle his laughter. “Especially,” he corrected, and then the two lovers finally relaxed. Gildor listened to Glorfindel’s breathing until it slowed, until the arms that held him became warm and heavy. He hoped, after tonight’s activities, Glorfindel could rest and his dreams would be his own.

 

To be contined...

 

**Authors' Note:** Thank you for reading – we hope you're enjoying it! Please leave a comment to encourage us! Until next time... keep well :)

 

**Translations:**

_bain nín_ – my beauty

_Dúlinnor –_ nightingale 

_mîr nín –_ my treasure


	10. Chapter Ten

**Chapter Ten**

Thankfully, when they awoke there was no trace of strangeness in Glorfindel. Gildor blinked as he stirred, feeling the warrior’s strong arms wrapped around him still, and one of his legs too.

Outside it was sunny, and Gildor began their morning ritual, trying to ease himself out of Glorfindel’s grip to get up. This particular morning, he was halfway out of Glorfindel’s arms, his fingers just touching on his robe where it rested on a chair beside the bed. Then the warrior woke up.

“Good morning, Glorfindel!” he said brightly, as if he hadn’t been sneaking out of bed, pinned beneath the blond elf’s weight, again.

“Good morning, indeed. You are very wriggly in the morning,” Glorfindel observed. “One would think you did not like to cuddle, although I know that cannot be true.” He dipped his head to nuzzle Gildor’s ear, his tongue flicking out to tease the tip.

“Sometimes I like to cuddle from atop you, you know.” He laughed at Glorfindel’s expression. “You’re also heavy when you’re in reverie.” He squirmed until he was more comfortably situated under his lover, and then pressed his hips up into Glorfindel with an expression he hoped was one of innocence. “There, a nice stretch. It feels marvelous after a good reverie.” His hands stole upward to slide into Glorfindel’s tumbled curls.

As he had hoped would happen, Glorfindel shifted to let his thick cock slide alongside his cock. He shivered in delight at the sensation, already feeling tingles of anticipation throughout. He managed to work one leg free, and hooked it over Glorfindel’s hip.

“You are quite wanton today. I wonder what I should do about it.” Glorfindel’s smile lit his eyes, and he laughed up at the blond warrior.

“Well, whatever you decide, let’s be quick about it. I have a rare appetite this morning. It must be all the exercise I get of late.” He worked the other leg free, and Glorfindel groaned as he spread himself wide for his lover.

“I can be quick,” Glorfindel said hastily as he reached for the oil, and Gildor laughed. “And I can make you quick too,” he continued. Gildor’s laughter dissolved into a moan as Glorfindel did not immediately penetrate him with the oil, but worked him with one strong hand, until he was so close he knew he would climax as soon as Glorfindel breached him.

The preparation was efficient too, and as he had thought, just the feel of Glorfindel’s cock in him was enough, and his body seized in pleasure, leaving him relaxed and easy as Glorfindel worked towards his own release.

Despite his earlier words, when Glorfindel was done, Gildor was unwilling to rise, and unwilling to let his lover go, loving to lay beside him quietly and look into those blue eyes, completely content.

“Let us go to the baths,” Glorfindel said quietly, interspersing his words with little kisses. “And then breakfast. I know you are hungry after yesterday, and that is my fault. I should have made certain to disturb you.”

Gildor smiled. “Yes, you should, wicked elf,” he teased. “I told you to.”

They gathered their things and went to the baths in only their robes, early enough this morning that even the quietest of the warm pools were busy. The one they walked into was full of Glorfindel’s guards - the night shift, if Gildor was not mistaken, and he sighed helplessly at the sight of them.

Glorfindel greeted them all by name, quite oblivious to his discomfort, and hung his robe up carelessly. The blond warrior turned to Gildor, hanging back and fussing with his robe a bit.

“Come, _bain nín_ , the water looks to be gloriously warm this morning.” Glorfindel held out a hand, and he took it, hoping his smile looked bright and confident. “Your robe?”

“Ah, of course.” He was quite sure he was blushing clear up to the tips of his ears, but he slipped the robe off and fought the urge to look down at himself, to check for any lingering evidence of their morning lovemaking. Then he followed Glorfindel to the bath meekly, trying not to look at any of the guards for too long, lest he see confirmation of his fretting.

“Come, I will wash your hair, and then you can wash mine,” Glorfindel offered. He did love it when those strong fingers massaged his scalp, and eased through his hair. He clambered into the water with a brighter smile.

“Good morning,” he said, a general greeting to the guards. It would not do to be rude, he decided. “It looks to be a fine day, although I suppose for you it is opposite?” Glorfindel’s chuckle sounded decidedly wicked as he settled down in front of his lover.

Though it seemed intimate, it was not unusual for elves to attend the baths in pairs, even those who weren’t lovers, because it was certainly easier to have another wash your hair. Gildor relaxed as he felt the first touches of Glorfindel’s finger tips against his scalp.

“It makes no difference,” said one of the guards Gildor had addressed. “I always sleep well when the birds are singing!” At that Gildor’s heart thumped heavily, as a few noisy laughs echoed around the baths.

“You must have heard some birdsong last night then,” teased another. “I could hear you snoring from my post!”

Gildor swallowed and opened his eyes, backing up a little, only to realise he was pressing himself against Glorfindel under the water. But the guards did not seem to display any particular attention to him, so perhaps he was just imagining it. One of them gave Glorfindel and he a forthright look, though.

“I wasn’t sleeping, Captain,” he said, and Glorfindel chuckled behind him. Gildor relaxed again, but this time he remained a little wary. It was impossible to be completely uncomfortable when Glorfindel massaged his scalp like that. The attention of the warriors drifted away, and one or two of them left.

“Easy, _dúlinnor nín_ ,” Glorfindel whispered in his ear, so quietly only he heard it.

Gildor’s heart skipped a beat, and he turned his head fast enough to almost hit Glorfindel’s nose with his cheekbone. He swallowed hard, looking for assurance which would not be forthcoming. Surely he was not suggesting… and Glorfindel smiled at him.

With that, he settled down. Glorfindel had more care for him than to make a spectacle of him. It was teasing, no more, and certainly well deserved after how he had teased his lover. He did like that new pet name as well. He was certainly happy enough to be Glorfindel’s nightingale. In the meantime, strong fingers were working their way through his hair, and he sighed in bliss.

“That feels so nice, _aníra nín_.” He leaned back into Glorfindel’s touch, no longer worried about the opinion of the guards. “When you are done, I will wash your hair. And then we can go and find our breakfast.” His smile for Glorfindel was radiant.

Soon, he found himself sitting on a submerged seat in the pool, with Glorfindel leaned back across his knees, his beautiful hair streaming out into the water. It did not matter who was with them, Gildor could not help it. He washed his lover’s hair, taking all the pleasure from it that he could, enjoying how Glorfindel utterly relaxed under his touch. When a couple of the warriors made some choice comments, Gildor didn’t even look up, only grinned. Glorfindel lay there with his eyes closed. “Get your own,” he called back at them, then sighed in satisfaction, and Gildor giggled.

They followed the warriors in to breakfast, so it was by nature a more rowdy affair, but Gildor was quite relaxed. They talked to each other about their plans for the day, and he realised that however Glorfindel teased, his lover would never expose him that way to others. It just wasn’t in his nature.

They spent most of the day apart, engaged in their differing tasks within Imladris, but Glorfindel made certain to distract him for lunch, and then dinner, after which they ambled through the formal gardens, hand in hand.

Something had occurred to Gildor, and during their walk he stopped suddenly, frowning, intending to ask about it. “That…” He struggled for the words. “The way you restrain me, when you stop me from…” He blushed, and Glorfindel smiled at him, enjoying seeing him stumble over his words, no doubt.

Gildor drew in a breath and looked away. “I know you must have had it made. Who did you plan to seduce before this?” He gave Glorfindel an earnest look, because he’d been thinking about how many lovers Glorfindel had kept before, in Gondolin. “And,” he said, faltering. “Do you still plan it?”

Glorfindel watched him for a long moment, and he swallowed hard. The question was a gamble, and he knew it. He steeled himself for the answer which must come.

“Such things can be had if you know where to ask,” Glorfindel said finally. He looked down at Gildor’s hand, still clasped in his own strong fingers. “Do you not enjoy it, when I use it? It seemed to me you found even more pleasure in your release when it was denied to you for a time.”

“I do enjoy it, mostly.” He surprised himself by his straightforward answer. He continued before he lost his courage. “I just never experienced anything like that before. I suppose I seem provincial to you, to admit it.”

“Not provincial. Untouched, more innocent than worldly.” Glorfindel smiled sweetly and turned Gildor toward him, pulling him close for a kiss. “It is very appealing, you know. I enjoy watching you as you discover things about yourself, things like enjoying my toys.”

“The way you say that makes me wonder what you have in store for me,” he said, his fingers tightening in Glorfindel’s grasp. He bit his lip, and then smiled at his lover. “I must remember not to tease you too much, I think.”

Glorfindel laughed slowly. “Do you think that will help?” he asked, raising an eyebrow in a comical fashion, and Gildor laughed too.

“I am doomed!” he declared to the empty garden, unable to help it.

“Doomed to discovering pleasure,” Glorfindel pointed out.

“And having everything I ever wanted,” Gildor said, drawing closer again. He tilted his face up in the dusk for a little kiss. “Is it too early to retire?” he asked.

“Well, that depends,” said Glorfindel, giving him a frank look. “How’s your endurance?”

“Mine?!” Gildor almost spluttered, hitting Glorfindel playfully on the arm. “What about yours?”

“Let’s find out,” said Glorfindel mysteriously, leading them around the paths that would bring them back to the house. Gildor tried to imagine what might be waiting for him inside, but eventually had to concede defeat. He didn’t dare to voice half of the fantasies his mind came up with, except to say that they all featured Glorfindel.

It occurred to him that before this, he would have returned to his maps after dinner, if he’d even been present for the evening meal. Now, he had other things to do with his time, and he admitted - at least to himself - that the balance was good for him. Glorfindel was good for him. He only hoped he was good for Glorfindel.

They made their way to Glorfindel’s room, and his overlarge bed, and he could not help a sigh of anticipation as he waited for Glorfindel to close the door and secure it. Really, the warrior’s experience with lovemaking did seem almost unfair, but he was sure he would be able to handle whatever surprises his lover had in store.

“Now, _dúlinnor nín_ , what shall we try tonight?” Glorfindel’s voice was a sultry purr, and he felt his cock stiffen at the tone. “I already know how sweetly you sing when restrained. Perhaps we should try something new?”

He was not sure if he wanted to shiver, or if he wanted to nod agreement with whatever Glorfindel proposed. He could feel his heart beating just that much faster, and his body clenched in anticipation. He licked his lips, his cheeks growing warm. “What sort of new things?”

Glorfindel’s response was a dark chuckle, and he reached out to begin undressing Gildor. Glorfindel took his time, caressing him as he removed each garment, while his head spun with desire and need. He trembled under his lover’s touch, until he stood naked before him.

“So beautiful,” Glorfindel murmured. He turned away, and when he turned back, he held a band of fine silk. “Turn around for me, _bain nín_.”

He did as Glorfindel asked, trembling anew as the silk slid over his eyes. Glorfindel was careful to make the blindfold tight enough not to slip, but not tight enough to hurt. This was a new kind of helpless, and the next touch of his lover’s fingers tingled like wildfire across his skin.

He gasped, but then the touch left him alone, and he stood in the centre of the room by himself. He could hear the rustling of Glorfindel’s clothing, and smiled. He was getting undressed too.

Gildor held out his hands to the empty air. He was a mapmaker, and he knew the dimensions of this room and everything in it. It was an instinct in him to know, and yet now he felt as though the little bit of the floor he stood on might be the only solid thing in the world.

With a breath to settle his nerves from that disconcerting impression, Gildor determined that this would not beat him. He turned slightly. Over there, in front of him should be the bed, roughly ten small steps away, clear space between. With an act of will, he lowered his hands to his sides and took a step, then another.

His confidence grew as he walked, and he became bolder, aware that Glorfindel was watching him. If he was considerate, he would not place himself in the way. The bed was exactly where he expected it to be, and now at last he raised his hands again, crawling onto it on all fours.

“As tempting and delectable as you look,” Glorfindel said, his voice coming from the side. “That was too easy for you.” Gildor smiled and turned his head in the direction of his lover’s voice.

“Did you expect me to fail?” he asked, amused. Glorfindel’s hand took his, encouraging him back onto the floor, and before he could stop to think, the warrior was leading him into the open space again, this time turning him around and around, quickly, so as to disorient him. Gildor laughed, understanding as Glorfindel left him alone again. Now it was a challenge, but he knew he was equal to it. He only needed to touch one stationary thing to get his bearings.

He took a breath, letting himself relax. He could feel Glorfindel near him, the heat from his lover easy enough to sense against his skin. He knew Glorfindel would not purposefully obstruct him. He took a step forward, confident, one hand stretched out just a bit further than his step would take him.

Three quick steps later, his fingers grazed the wood of Glorfindel’s wardrobe. He smiled, turned, and walked to the bed with unerring grace, turning to perch on the edge.

“You carry all the places you’ve known in that head of yours,” Glorfindel said, and there was admiration as well as pride in the rich tones of his voice. “You will find your way to the bed no matter where I place you, I think. And in truth, I quite like seeing you in my bed.”

“Then come and join me.” He held out his hand as he slid back onto the bed, arranging himself in what he knew would be a pleasing manner. “I quite like being in your bed myself, and I would not want to disappoint your guards.”

Glorfindel’s laughter was a delight to him, and he felt the weight of the warrior as he climbed onto the bed. But Glorfindel did not take his hand, did not touch him, and he found himself almost breathless in anticipation.

For long moments, there was nothing, while Gildor worked himself up into a frenzy of anticipation, imagining Glorfindel looming over him. Then at last, unable to help it, he sat up and reached out to where he thought Glorfindel should be, yet found nothing but empty space.

He hadn’t been paying attention. Gildor grinned, and suddenly turned over to one side of the bed in an attempt at a surprise attack, but it was empty. A low chuckle from behind him was his only warning, before warm lips brushed over the bottom of his spine. A warm tingle ran through him as he froze, wondering if he would feel Glorfindel’s touch again.

When he didn’t, Gildor turned over onto his back, and now the lips were back, sweeping over his stomach, and he shivered deliciously, reaching out to touch, his fingers sliding through Glorfindel’s hair as he pulled away.

“If you want my touch,” the warrior said wickedly. “You will keep your hands to yourself.”

Gildor let his hands drop immediately, eager to have Glorfindel come back, and then he felt those lips further up his body, pressing against one nipple, a hint of a tongue behind them. Instinctively, he brought his hands up to cradle Glorfindel’s head, moaning in dismay when his lover pulled away.

“So unfair,” he complained quietly. He lay still for a moment, then got up onto his knees, certain that Glorfindel was before him. When he felt a hand gathering his hair to one side, he tilted his head, moaning as Glorfindel kissed the back of his neck. With the blindfold, every touch felt so fabulous, so intense. His imagination leapt forward to what it would be like to feel Glorfindel take him like this, and he felt himself growing hard for it.

So he could not touch? But he could respond in other ways, and Gildor began to yearn into Glorfindel’s caresses, until, still on his knees, he felt one of Glorfindel’s hands on his cock, coaxing him into full hardness. His hands ached with a need to touch Glorfindel in kind, but he could not, and settled for a long, sinuous arching of his body that made Glorfindel hum in appreciation behind him..

Every inch of his skin felt alive, and each touch seemed more intense with his vision negated like this. He wondered how he had never thought to try something like this before, and then nearly laughed at himself. He had been so provincial indeed. It would never have occurred to him, and that was the simple truth.

Glorfindel’s other hand teased one nipple, and he moaned in sweet appreciation, his cock achingly hard already. Did Glorfindel mean for him to spill so quickly, or would he employ that wicked restraint? He found himself almost hoping for it, for the security of knowing he would not finish too soon, and could please his lover by his endurance.

He let his head fall back, offering his lips to his lover, and the kiss was both possessive and intoxicating. He could only imagine Glorfindel’s expression, the heat in those eyes. It was more arousing than he could have anticipated.

Glorfindel’s hands fell away, and he listened as the weight on the bed shifted. He heard the soft click of a stopper being lifted from a bottle, and breathed in the scent of the oil Glorfindel favoured. A strong hand urged him to bend forward, presenting himself to be prepared, and he let out a soft cry as he felt one strong finger stroking him. He trembled a little, feeling more open than he ever had, more exposed, and yet he would not change a thing.

And then, before that moment passed, Gildor felt a stab of agonised need, and he dislodged Glorfindel’s hands on him easily, turning around, still blinded, his own hands reaching out. “Please,” he said fervently. “Let me… before...” and then somehow it was all right when his palms touched Glorfindel’s face, almost as if he had to confirm it for himself.

His lips pressed against Glorfindel’s, hungry for a response which his lover gave him as Gildor’s hands moved down, mapping his lover’s familiar body. Now it was right. Now he would submit to whatever Glorfindel wished. And then, as his right hand brushed over Glorfindel’s cock, he felt it.

Now he knew why Glorfindel had not placed the restraint on him, and he gasped. “Glorfindel,” he whispered. The warrior caught his hand and pulled it away.

“On your knees now, as you were,” he replied tenderly, nuzzling his face against Gildor’s neck. “Tonight, I will please you,” he said.

Gildor turned and got back into his previous position in a daze. Glorfindel had turned the tables on him so easily, and though this seemed the same, it was all subtly altered as Glorfindel eased inside him. This was for his pleasure, because Glorfindel would not come. That, combined with the blindfold, turned this into a delirious experience.

Glorfindel, as always, felt so big, just a whisper away from pain to take him inside, and yet… every one of Glorfindel’s moans stoked his own ecstasy. This was slow and sensual, and Gildor tried to hold back, because he didn’t want it to end.

He was not sure how his lover knew, but Glorfindel’s voice was just as tender. “All night, _bain nín_ , as long as you desire, as many times as you wish.”

Glorfindel made it that simple. His lover would delay his own release until he was drunk on pleasure, and capable of nothing more than crying out Glorfindel’s name. And because it was exactly that simple, he could no longer hold back. Glorfindel was touching him everywhere at once, and he cried out as he spilled.

Strong hands caught him, held him as he shuddered through a powerful surge of pleasure, made more intense by the position, the blindfold, the knowledge of what Glorfindel wore for him. He had not had an answer to his question earlier, about Glorfindel’s other lovers, in Gondolin and since his return, but somehow the need for the answer faded with the waves of bliss rolling through him.

Glorfindel withdrew, and he thought to protest the emptiness, until his lips were covered in a kiss. It was just what he needed to ground himself again, and he smiled into the caress, knowing he was wanted, and loved. He let Glorfindel ease him onto his back, resting against the soft cushions, and he felt those strong hands travel over him, soothing and stroking him.

He was so used to finding release at the same time or after Glorfindel that feeling his lover’s hard cock pressed against his thigh made him gasp. Glorfindel’s hands roved everywhere. The change from soothing to rousing was subtle, but he had spent too soon, and his body needed time. And then, with a start, Gildor realised it didn’t mean he wished to refuse. The thought of feeling Glorfindel inside him again became a desire in his mind, especially given the way his lover was inundating him with kisses and licks as if to persuade him.

Without the clouding of his own body’s physical desire, Gildor found it heady to be the focus of Glorfindel’s need. He made such wonderful little yearning sounds as he expertly played with Gildor’s body, until he was on top, with Gildor spread wide beneath him. Gildor reached up to touch the warrior’s face, one finger finding its way into Glorfindel’s mouth, which he suckled. Gildor moaned, and felt a stirring of his blood. Sluggish but awakening.

“Take me…” he breathed, but Glorfindel did not. Instead he continued with the ravishing treatment that made Gildor feel cherished and loved. So tender, increasing the pitch of his physical desire little by little as if courting it.

When he was hard again, and his skin was heated with arousal, Glorfindel rolled them over until Gildor was on top; a moment later an oiled finger was sliding inside him, but it was unnecessary. The finger withdrew, and then it was Glorfindel. Gildor sank down slowly with a moan, only for his lover to pull him forward and free him from the blindfold.

He blinked, his eyes adjusting to the dim light in the room, bright enough after the blindfold. Glorfindel was beneath him, golden curls spread in a halo beneath his head, blue eyes dark and wide. Those perfect lips were curved in a smile, and his expression of admiration and love made Gildor gasp.

“What are you seeing?” he asked, filled by his lover. He reached out to touch the warrior’s cheek in wonder.

“I am seeing everything I have ever desired, and all I could ever hope for,” Glorfindel replied. “I am seeing Gildor Inglorion, and I thank the Valar for this blessing.” His strong hands curled around his hips, urging him to move, and he needed no further encouragement.

It was as though he had not already spent himself. He could feel the slow heating of his blood, the coiled need in his belly as Glorfindel moved within, so deep and so encompassing. It was more than physical, this joining. He felt his _fëa_ respond as well, as never before in all the long years of his life. “ _Meleth nín_ ,” he whispered, for the first time, and knew he meant it.

At those words, Glorfindel’s eyes darkened and the warrior’s body shuddered beneath him. All of that strength and power, constrained. It made Gildor catch his breath, but Glorfindel was as hard inside him as before. Nothing had changed. As he looked down, Glorfindel twisted his head away at an angle, and Gildor could see the corded muscles in his neck, so tight with tension.

“ _Ai_!” Glorfindel moaned, and Gildor was sure it was one of the sweetest sounds he had ever heard. “Do you mean to torture me with your words?” Glorfindel asked, breathless, and he sounded so vulnerable. Gildor put out a hand, resting his palm on the side of Glorfindel’s neck that was exposed to him.

Glorfindel’s pulse was strong and wild beneath his hand, racing, thundering. Gildor swallowed, and though Glorfindel’s hands had tightened on his hips to keep him still, now they were looser, and it was easy for him to begin the slow up and down he wanted.

Every single movement inspired an aching moan from Glorfindel, and it reminded Gildor of how it felt to be restrained that way. The sheer need in him. He closed his eyes for a moment. “I said it, and I mean it,” he whispered. “I love you. But I do not think I intend to torment you.”

With that said he pulled away, letting Glorfindel slip free of his body before moving aside. As Glorfindel shivered beside him, still overcome, Gildor curiously inspected the restraint on him, wondering how best to remove it. He quickly grasped how it worked, but then one large hand covered his and he looked up to find Glorfindel staring at him, something dark in his gaze that made Gildor’s heart flutter nervously.

“If you remove it,” Glorfindel warned, the words clearly an effort on his part. “I do not think I can control myself.”

He looked at his lover, seeing clearly the elf who had slain a balrog, the elf who would not flinch in the face of impossible odds, the elf who had walked in the Halls of Mandos and returned. This was also the elf he loved, a side of his lover he could not deny. He nodded once, and lifted Glorfindel’s hand away.

“I will not fear you. Nor will I torment you any longer.” He loosed the restraint, his eyes never leaving Glorfindel. “There is nothing you can take which I have not already given.”

There was a certain peace in his decision, and he could not help but smile. He might have been a scholar, and a mapmaker, but he was still an elf of Gondolin, and he possessed courage enough for whatever would come. He let himself fall back onto the bed, open to Glorfindel. “Will you find release in me, for my pleasure?”

He was half expecting what happened next, yet the reality of Glorfindel pinning him down was more overwhelming than he imagined. He could feel the warrior’s hot breath on his neck as his hands got busy positioning himself. He entered Gildor with a powerful thrust that moved him up the bed, and it made tears spring to his eyes.

This reminded him of the baths that first morning, and all he could do was lie still and open beneath it. The tears were wet on his cheeks as Glorfindel all but slammed into him, and the moan that came from his lover’s lips was more of a possessive growl than anything.

Glorfindel’s ferocious need quickly eased, and he became a little gentler, only lasting through a few more hard thrusts before he reached that moment, and he held still, his muscles bulging. Gildor let his palms roam over Glorfindel’s biceps, biting his lip.

Glorfindel did not so much relax after his release as collapse, his hands sliding beneath Gildor’s body to hold him close, as if he was afraid Gildor would somehow escape.

He would not have tried, though. He sighed in contentment as Glorfindel’s arms enclosed him in warmth, his own need forgotten for the moment. He did not care how possessive Glorfindel was. He cherished it, in fact, as much as he relished his ability to make Glorfindel lose control. He did not even care that it was not as easy to breathe, with the weight of Glorfindel atop him.

His hands still rested against strong biceps, the muscles somewhat relaxed now, but still quite present beneath silken skin. He could feel his own hard cock, trapped between them. He could have wriggled to draw attention to it, but he chose to remain still, enjoying the closeness for the moment. It was curious, to feel such peace in the aftermath of being taken with such vigour, but it was true all the same.

Glorfindel moved, just the slightest turn of his head, and golden curls slid over his shoulder to tickle Gildor, and catch against his still-damp cheeks. “Thank you,” he murmured into the warmth of Glorfindel’s shoulder. “ _Aníra nín_.”

Coming around a little, Glorfindel freed one of his hands and raised his upper body a little, staring down into Gildor’s eyes. His thumb brushed over Gildor’s bottom lip.

“I love you too,” Glorfindel said at last. “If I told you how much, you would not believe me.”

Gildor’s heart expanded in joy, and he felt his body twitch where his erection was trapped between them. Before he could answer, he saw that Glorfindel felt it too, and he rolled to the side, reaching down now with the hand he had freed.

“Even when I intend the opposite, I make you wait,” Glorfindel said, then chuckled. But it was easy to forgive him when he curled his fingers around Gildor’s cock, stroking him in a way that was meant for his pleasure. Fast, the way he liked it. Gildor moaned, turning his head to the side.

“I will not last,” he managed, and Glorfindel chuckled again.

“I do not mean for you to,” he said. “I want you to come in my hand, _meleth nín_. That is the way you will please me now.”

His body responded to Glorfindel as if given an instruction, and he cried out, spilling as Glorfindel worked him, coaxing out all that he had to give until he was spent.

Afterward, he rested in Glorfindel’s arms, sated and content to be held. It had been a night of revelations, from exploring new pleasures to his confession of love, a confession which was met with a reciprocal response. It was almost too large a thing to think about just now. Glorfindel loved him. He wondered, only for a moment, why Glorfindel thought he would not believe it. He dismissed it, and nuzzled against his lover’s skin. The last thing he registered before reverie took him was the feeling of a strong hand stroking his hair.

 

To be continued...

 

**Authors' Note:** Thank you for reading – we hope you enjoyed that chapter! Please leave a comment as you go, and see you next week! :)


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Chapter Eleven**

The morning sun roused him from reverie, and he felt an unaccustomed chill. Glorfindel had moved apart from him, was laid on the edge of the bed with his back to Gildor, and his muscles were bunched with tension. He reached out his hand, propping himself up on his elbow.

“Glorfindel?” He was not able to keep the concern from his voice, and his fingers brushed the cold skin of his lover’s bicep. He was far too startled to even cry out when Glorfindel moved, pinning him beneath his greater weight, his wrists caught firmly over his head. But the heat in Glorfindel’s eyes was not passion, not this time, and now he did cry out.

The look in Glorfindel’s eyes suddenly switched to recognition and anguish. “Gildor? You cannot be here! I saw you escape! What evil brought you back?”

When he heard Glorfindel speak his name, Gildor had relaxed a little, but as Glorfindel suddenly rested his head on Gildor’s chest, there was an icy prickling all over his skin. He was still dreaming, Gildor realised.

“ _Meleth nín_ ,” he said, as calmly as he could manage. “That day is gone. It is over. Please…”

Glorfindel lifted his head, glaring at him, his hand tightening where he held Gildor’s wrists so that the bones were almost crushed. It hurt, enough for Gildor to cry out loudly as tears sprung to his eyes.

“Over?” Glorfindel repeated, a smile on his lips that held no warmth. “Oh, I do not think so. Dragonspell,” he whispered, as if naming Gildor, looking deeply into his eyes. There was a desire in the warrior that did not make sense to Gildor, and he felt Glorfindel’s hard arousal against him. “So this is why they do not wake…”

Left with little choice, Gildor struggled helplessly, terrified that Glorfindel might break his wrists, afraid that Glorfindel might take him like this, still dreaming. Glorfindel’s free hand moved to encircle his neck in a loose hold, and Gildor panicked.

“Stop! No! Please! Glorfindel, wake up!” In his fear he was strong, and yet his struggles only made Glorfindel growl, that hand around his neck tightening until he could no longer shout.

“Evil distraction, you will not detain me,” Glorfindel growled, staring down as if he hated, and though Gildor knew it was a dream, it made his heart ache. Would Glorfindel kill him? His breath was a noisy wheezing in and out under Glorfindel’s hand. A little more and he would not be able to breathe. “I return to the battle,” Glorfindel insisted. “I fight!”

His mind raced. Struggle did no good, which left one option. Gildor forced himself to go limp, in the desperate hope his lover would come to his senses, or at the least, release his grip. His heart hammered in his chest like a trapped songbird.

“Then return,” he rasped out. “I cannot detain you.” He offered a silent prayer Glorfindel would accept those words, would release him and wake from this dreadful parody of reverie which bound him. Hot tears slid from the corners of his eyes, burning their way across his skin. If his gambit did not work, if Glorfindel only grew angrier…

It did not bear thinking. He simply would not allow Glorfindel to bear the weight of such a crime, if it meant defying Námo himself and demanding a return of his own. His resolution settled him somewhat, and he closed his eyes, hoping it would break whatever ensorcellment held Glorfindel in its thrall. “I will not fight you, warrior.”

It came as a surprise when he realised he felt no desire, when he noted his own arousal had fled under Glorfindel’s grasp. It was perhaps a crueller thing than Glorfindel’s words or actions, and fresh tears fell as his heart ached anew. Whatever desire still gripped Glorfindel, he felt none of it, and it hurt to look at that beloved face and feel such apprehension. He closed his eyes with a sob.

To his astonishment, Glorfindel suddenly let him go, though he was still trapped beneath the warrior’s bodyweight. He felt Glorfindel relax on top of him, Glorfindel’s lips warm against his ear as his lover nuzzled his hair. “Valar help me,” he whispered. “I cannot leave you, and I do not care if you are not real. I could not harm you. I will stay.”

Gildor trembled in sheer shock, his emotions wrung out so that he could hardly respond to this. But Glorfindel was still dreaming, and his declarations held a note of deep sadness and surrender. Gildor’s wrists were bruised and sore, but he brought his hands down to frame Glorfindel’s face, making him look up.

The tears were still in his eyes, and he blinked to clear his vision. “Whatever evil magic this is,” Glorfindel vowed, shaking his head. “I care not. I will sleep forever if I can but dream of you.”

“Oh, Glorfindel,” said Gildor, and his voice was rough. He was sure his neck was bruised and there was something wrong with his throat. “You only dream. Wake up and come back to me.”

“You urge me to wake?” Glorfindel asked, blinking, and his eyes slowly cleared of the dream. Almost immediately following that he looked Gildor over, clearly realising what he had done. He made to draw away, but Gildor held him fast, though it hurt his wrists to keep Glorfindel close to him.

“Do not,” he pleaded, his voice still hoarse. “Do not pull away from me. I do not know what held you, but we will face this together. I will not lose you, not now.”

“After this?” Glorfindel sounded impossibly weary, his voice heavy with sorrow. “I have hurt you. I have laid hands on you and hurt you. I said I would not do such a thing, and yet I have.”

Gildor shook his head, ignoring the pain from his bruised neck. “You did no such thing. I do not know why your reverie was subverted, what darkness pulls at you, but I will never lay this on you.” He swallowed, feeling a sob trying to rise despite it all. “You are not alone. I will stand by you, and we will seek advice from Lord Elrond.”

He watched the colour rise in Glorfindel’s pale cheeks, the way those eyes he loved darkened in sorrow. “We cannot pretend nothing occurred, but I know it was not your intention. I will not fear your touch, please believe me.”

He wondered if Glorfindel knew what he had said in that awful dream, the words so clear in Gildor’s heart. Would Glorfindel have chosen an endless sleep if it held dreams of him? It was almost too much to grasp, to think he had been so loved, and did not know it. Even more so, that he had loved this elf and said nothing for his own part.

“Rest beside me for a bit, _meleth nín_. Then we will bathe, and seek Lord Elrond’s counsel.” He dared to release his hold on Glorfindel, all but willing his lover to settle beside him. “Let us hold each other.”

Without a word, Glorfindel turned onto his back beside Gildor, and so he cuddled up close, one arm thrown over Glorfindel’s chest. As he did so, he could not miss the shadowing of a bruise forming around his wrist - and neither did Glorfindel.

The warrior’s fingertips brushed back and forth over Gildor’s forearm, as gentle a touch as Glorfindel had ever given him. The frown did not leave his face. “At the very least, Elrond will help with the pain I have caused you,” he said.

Gildor said nothing, but he found himself drifting pleasantly after the drama of what had occurred. The day seemed too serene, Glorfindel’s touch so gentle. The sunlight was warm on them through the window. Beside him, as they lay together, he felt Glorfindel relax somewhat. They should go and bathe late, when they were more likely to be alone.

“Did you mean it?” he asked at last, twisting his head to look up. Glorfindel stared back at him, sorrow was in his frown as he saw the marks he had left, and Gildor dropped his gaze. “Would a dream of me have defeated you then?”

“Yes,” Glorfindel said simply. All the time, he still continued with that light caress. “I faced the dragon, and it spoke before I could think to close my ears to it. And then there you were, beneath me, all I ever wanted.”

Gildor’s heart felt so full, despite everything.

“Have you thought that perhaps we were not meant to…” Glorfindel halted halfway through his sentence.

In one fluid movement, Gildor turned and pressed a kiss to Glorfindel’s lips. “I think we were meant to centuries ago,” he said. “No bad dream will convince me otherwise.”

He felt Glorfindel relax, felt those full lips curve into a ghost of a smile. “Well, then. Far be it from me to argue with you. We are meant to, and I will trust in that.” Glorfindel brushed a soft kiss over his lips. “Thank you.”

“For what?” He looked at his lover in genuine puzzlement.

“For not leaving. For not fearing this.” Glorfindel stroked his arm, back and forth, a feather of a caress. The hint of a smile had faded, he noted, and he knew Glorfindel was looking at his throat. “It is late enough, I think. The baths should be empty. We can find Elrond after, and then perhaps find a belated breakfast for you.” Glorfindel’s fingers rose to his neck, but fell away before he could touch.

His throat was tight, but it was grief for Glorfindel more than the bruising which caused it to ache. He could not imagine what it was costing his lover not to scream. The Valar knew, he wanted to scream himself, if it would not have hurt so much. Instead, he nodded, managing a small smile of his own. “That sounds like a good plan.”

The baths were blessedly empty, and they washed quickly, without any of the usual lingering in the warm water. Gildor chose a tunic with a higher neck, one that would hide the bruising on his throat from anyone they met, which earned him a wan smile from Glorfindel. He reached out to take his lover’s hand as they went in search of Elrond.

They found the Lord of Imladris in his office, already at work. He seemed mildly surprised to see them both, but invited them in, pouring them each a cup of some herbal tea that he was drinking. Immediately, Gildor felt soothed, the infusion calming him and making him relax in his seat.

“I almost hesitate to ask,” Elrond said, perceptive. “But hardly anyone comes to me without cause, and I can see that both of you are concerned about something. Who will speak?” His gaze moved from one to the other of them slowly.

Elrond had been his friend for so many years, Gildor longed to say it, but this was really about Glorfindel, not himself, and so he looked expectantly at his lover. He sensed Glorfindel’s dread, and he reached out a hand to his, squeezing slightly to encourage him and lend him courage. Strange that Glorfindel should need courage, but in this moment he did. Gildor was aware Elrond didn’t miss this either, but he stayed silent.

“I have been dreaming of late,” Glorfindel said at last, placing his cup and saucer on the edge of the desk before him. “These dreams, I do not choose them. It is as though some evil thing had taken my hand in reverie, and led me back…” Glorfindel drew in a deep, shuddering breath. “They draw me back to Gondolin.”

“I see,” said Elrond, and he leaned forward. Perhaps he meant to ask a question, for he drew in a breath, but then Glorfindel forestalled him.

“That is not the worst of it,” Glorfindel noted, his voice dark. “I cannot wake from them by my own will. And this morning, I…” He looked at Gildor, and nodded. “Show him, _meleth nín_ , if you be willing.”

He saw the faintest lift of Elrond’s brow at Glorfindel’s words, a lift most would not even have noted. He had spent far too much time with Elrond to not know even the faintest signs of concern, or exasperation, or even anger, those few times it had been warranted. This was concern, that of a friend as well as a healer, and acknowledgement of the bond between Gildor and Glorfindel.

“Of course I am willing, _meleth nín_.” There, let Elrond see it was reciprocal, that he loved Glorfindel and cared not who knew it. He reached up to open the neck of his tunic, letting his sleeves fall back from his bruised wrists. He met Elrond’s eyes resolutely. “He did not know it was me. He believed me an enemy, but even then, he was not dishonourable.”

Elrond’s fingers were cool against his throat, the healer’s very touch soothing. He lifted his chin obediently, and turned his head to try and meet Glorfindel’s eyes, to offer his lover all the reassurance he could. “It is more bruised, I think, than anything.”

“I appreciate your advice on healing, Master Cartographer, yet I think I will trust my own counsel in this.” Elrond’s voice was dry, but held no rebuke. He finished his examination of Gildor’s throat, and then took his wrists in those cool hands, turning them slowly.

At last, Elrond sat back. He sighed. “It is remarkable that despite your strength, Glorfindel, you have caused no further damage than bruising.” At his words they all relaxed a little. “I very much doubt Gildor will be capable of work for several days,” he continued, shaking his head when Gildor opened his mouth to protest.

“I have a preparation you should use on those bruises, which should see to them quickly enough.”

“Thank you, Lord Elrond,” said Gildor, smiling despite it all. Elrond nodded, then turned to Glorfindel.

“And now to explore the more serious malady of your dreams.” He tilted his head, almost in apology. “You have them only at night?”

Glorfindel looked surprised that this should be Elrond’s first question, but then Gildor saw the reasoning behind it, and after a moment or two, so did Glorfindel.

“I would not endanger the valley!” he said, shocked.

“Not of your own will, no,” Elrond said slowly, “but you understand why I have to ask. These ‘evil things’ which drag you away... You talk as if they exist outside of your own will, and the evidence of their influence is here, before us.” Gildor looked down suddenly.

“I have them only at night,” Glorfindel replied at last, chastened. “I am sorry.”

Elrond nodded, his expression grave. “Can you think of anything which might cause such visitations?” He held a hand up to forestall Gildor, and he subsided, his heart hammering in his chest. “What would make you vulnerable during your reverie, to allow an outside influence to direct your memories, and prevent you from waking?”

He looked at Glorfindel, a rush of something hot flooding him. He could not put a name to it, this feeling. Was it their activities which triggered these nightmares? He could not remember anything the first time which would have been unusual. He trembled a little with relief; he had not triggered this in his lover. He twisted his fingers together in his lap, until Elrond reached over to still them.

“You will not do your wrists any good, Gildor. Do you wish a longer respite from your maps?”

He felt the heat rise to his cheeks, and he looked into his lap. “Of course not, Lord Elrond. I am just…”

“You have every right to be concerned for your lover’s wellbeing. It speaks much of the love between you.” Elrond sat back, and returned his attention to Glorfindel. “Is there anything at all, any notion? No matter how small a detail, it might help.”

Glorfindel sighed heavily, and did not look Gildor’s way. “Elrond, I can not think of anything, but I must tell you: when these dreams end, they stay with me. This morning when I awoke and saw what I had done, for several minutes afterwards, I had doubts that I had actually awoken.” He ran a hand through his hair. “If this makes me unfit for duty, then it makes me unfit. Now, with a little distance from waking up, I feel strongly that I am reliving these things for a reason. There is something I have missed. Some detail. Something the dreams want me to pay attention to.”

Gildor felt such sympathy then, because he knew the exact context of the dream Glorfindel had, and he understood where that doubt came from. Glorfindel had awoken with him, the very thing the dream had tempted him with.

At last, Elrond spoke. “In mortals such dreams are common,” he observed. “If these are the dreams which haunt you, then I hope they will be of shorter duration in an elf.” After a moment, he continued. “You are not unfit for duty, but I urge you to take some time. In fact, I insist. While there is peace, there is no need among the recruits so urgent they cannot continue without you.”

Glorfindel nodded, accepting the verdict immediately. “I shall let you know if there are more of them,” the warrior said gravely, his glance flitting sideways to Gildor.

Elrond cleared his throat. “I understand you have found each other, and even with these dreams I am aware it is not my business, but…” Here, Elrond looked at Gildor. “I have been your friend for many centuries, Gildor. Do either of you feel that, for as long as these violent dreams are present, it might be better to retire separately?”

“No!” Both of them spoke at the same time, in unison, and Elrond appeared startled, then relaxed back into his chair. Gildor smiled. “It is out of the question,” he said firmly.

Elrond merely waited, and Gildor did not let him wait for long.

“I told you, he was never dishonourable. I am not afraid, and I will not leave his side when he needs me most.” He looked over at Glorfindel, and smiled. “If it helps, I can offer my own observations, in the event of another dream.”

“It is Gildor who wakes me. I would fear being trapped in the dream for much longer without his help.” Glorfindel reached out and stroked Gildor’s forearm through the sleeve of his tunic. “I do not think I am capable of doing him serious harm, despite this morning’s events. Even in that state, I felt nothing but love for Gildor.”

“I will not seek to dissuade you.” Elrond stood. “Allow me to bring you some of the preparation for your bruises, Gildor. Glorfindel, I am relying on your judgement. I will expect you to come to me at once if there is another occurrence. In fact, I would prefer it. The fresher the incident is in your mind, the more detail we may glean from it.”

Gildor turned the small pot of ointment over in his hands, after Lord Elrond had fetched it from his workroom. He looked over at Glorfindel as they walked toward the kitchens. There was so much he wanted to ask, and yet the words stuck in his throat.

Despite his pensive mood, Glorfindel managed to put away quite a lot at breakfast, as usual, while Gildor settled for a little yoghurt with honey, and some warm oatmeal. When they were finished, Gildor still felt as though the mood from their awakening lingered.

“This is no dream,” he said to Glorfindel. “Or if it is, then it is mine.”

He rested a hand on his lover’s arm, meaning to reassure him. When the warrior looked at him, there was something so vulnerable in his expression. “You will stay with me?” Glorfindel asked, and Gildor nodded.

“Of course. I do not want you to awaken from those dreams and be all alone.” The thought of it was so awful it made him shudder. At last, Glorfindel smiled.

“Our days are free,” Glorfindel said. “I did not expect that to be the result of asking Lord Elrond for advice.” The smile became a grin. “And I believe you owe me some sights.”

Gildor suddenly laughed, feeling the weight over him evaporate. As strange as it seemed, he warmed to the idea of dragging Glorfindel all over Imladris. A day spent hiking would be good for them both; the fresh air, the change of surroundings.

“I hope you are not averse to climbing,” Gildor said then, having decided. They went to change for walking out, and Gildor applied the ointment carefully with Glorfindel’s help, though they did not speak of that morning.

 

To be continued...

 

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	12. Chapter Twelve

**Authors' Note:** This is a long chapter. Enjoy!

 

**Chapter Twelve**

By afternoon, Gildor had led Glorfindel up a long and winding path to the top of the valley. Up here, one could see for miles. It was a cartographer’s dream, and he felt something in him relax. If he looked one way, he could see the Trollshaws, leading to a vague promise of open land in the distance. Looking the other, the misty mountains provided a spectacular backdrop to the packed lunch they had brought along. Gildor sketched the land thereabout as he had a thousand times before, while Glorfindel rested against him, dozing. There were no bad dreams.

Gildor put away his pens and parchment, wiping his fingers with a cloth. He looked up at the clear sky, letting the gentle breeze tease his hair back from his face, and then looked down at the dozing elf beside him. Here, in the peace of the valley, the events of the morning already felt distant, although he decided he would cherish one thing: Glorfindel had been willing to remain in that ensorcelled sleep, if it meant being with him.

He looked up again, blinking sudden tears from his eyes. It was the last thing he had expected, to discover Glorfindel had loved him when they dwelled in Gondolin. Had he been a bit braver, or more sure of himself, perhaps they would have found each other then. He would not complain, though. Glorfindel had not hesitated to declare his heart to Lord Elrond himself.

In spite of everything, he could not help the joy that filled him. Glorfindel loved him. Really, that was just the most perfect thing. It was all he could do not to shout it aloud, and hear it echo throughout the valley. Glorfindel, Lord of the House of the Golden Flower, loved him, and he loved Glorfindel with all his heart.

“You look beautiful like this, with your hair blown back, and the sun on your face.” Glorfindel’s strong hand stroked his back, and he turned, still smiling. Glorfindel looked relaxed, and happy, and he was gratified to see how well the afternoon outside walls was helping them both.

Gildor found himself staring at Glorfindel’s lips, and he leaned back against the warrior’s shoulder on purpose, tilting his face up for a kiss, lifting his hands to tangle his fingers in his lover’s hair.

The first touch of Glorfindel’s lips on his ignited a fire between them. The events of the day meant they had barely touched each other, let alone shared a moment of physical intimacy. Gildor was so hungry for more he found himself sitting up straight, turning his entire body so that he could push Glorfindel down into the grass.

With a happy sound, he swung a leg over Glorfindel’s prostrate form, straddling him, only to place his hands on the ground at either side of his lover’s head and lean down for more of that kiss.

To know that Glorfindel had desired him so long ago made their coming together such a joyful thing, and Gildor was sure that even with the morning just gone, they would defeat these awful dreams of Glorfindel’s, and time would find them united forever, even into the Undying Lands.

He called himself an exile out of habit, as one of the Noldor who made the great journey back east, but after all of this time, he was sure - deep down - he would not be barred entry there. And especially not with Glorfindel at his side. Besides, he had not taken part in those terrible crimes. As a mapmaker, his fault had been curiosity; born in Valinor, he’d wanted to see and to record the great lands of Middle Earth, perhaps journey to Cuiviénen and map the land around the great lake, if it still existed.

Glorfindel’s hands were squeezing his upper thighs as they kissed, and Gildor moved back a little, so as to look into Glorfindel’s blue eyes.

“Are you all right?” he asked, and Gildor grinned.

“One of us is going to be tumbled in the grass, wicked elf. Which one of us would you like it to be?”

He found himself on his back almost before he could blink, and he laughed in delight. “This really has become a habit with you. I quite like it, I think.” He looked up into Glorfindel’s eyes, and reached up to tug Glorfindel in to continue the kiss.

Glorfindel’s arousal was quite apparent, pressed against the hollow of his hip, and he purred into the kiss as his hands travelled down to rest against his lover’s strong biceps. He loved Glorfindel’s effortless strength, his power and speed. It made him tingle to know how gentle his lover was with him. He found he did not care if Glorfindel preferred to take the dominant part most of the time. He knew they were always equal in their hearts.

He wriggled a bit, grinning when Glorfindel shifted to pin him more firmly. He could feel the heat in the tips of his ears, matching the growing warmth in his belly, and he arched his chest into his lover. He felt no urgency, though. They were alone, and unlikely to be interrupted, and if they were late for the evening meal, well, it would not be the first time.

Glorfindel seemed to read his thoughts, because he took his time kissing him, until Gildor was enjoyably dizzy. One large hand was carefully undoing the fastenings of his tunic, and he sighed in happiness as he felt the breeze against his skin.

When Glorfindel reached the buttons at the neck of his tunic, he frowned as he uncovered the skin beneath, and Gildor reached up to touch his face. “Don’t,” he said softly. “I want you, not your regret.”

To illustrate his words, he began work on Glorfindel’s clothing, sneaking looks up at him from beneath his lashes until his lover was smiling again. “As if I could resist you,” Glorfindel said at last, as Gildor’s hands roamed over his chest, slowly venturing further down.

“Wicked elf,” Glorfindel said, stealing Gildor’s words and stilling his hands by trapping them between their bodies, pressing close for another lingering kiss.

As always between them, Gildor could barely wait, and especially now after a full day spent together with no lovemaking. As soon as he had room, his hand was moving down to touch, gasping at the perfection of Glorfindel filling his palm, even through his breeches. Gildor removed his hand to tug at the waistband.

“I am hardly wicked, you know. You are the one who has made himself utterly irresistible,” he teased, working the breeches open until he could free his lover. He marveled at the thick cock, a frisson of pride running through him because he could indeed accommodate all of Glorfindel.

“Is that so?” Glorfindel’s chuckle gladdened him, and he palmed his lover again, loving the way the chuckle dissolved into a hiss of pleasure. Glorfindel leaned close, and his breath was hot against Gildor’s ear. “I do hope you remembered to bring oil.”

He grinned and nodded, but he could not quite reach the pocket where he had tucked the small vial. “Of course I remembered. I’m very good with details.” He arched against Glorfindel, sighing happily. “It’s taking a very long time to get undressed, though.” He let out a yelp when he was unceremoniously lifted, and his tunic removed without any further ado. His breeches followed with equal haste, Glorfindel pausing to look him over appreciatively.

“ _Bain nín_ ,” the warrior said, his voice husky with desire. “Every time I see you like this, I know myself blessed. Now, if you would be so good as to tell me where the oil is, I will not keep you waiting.”

Still astonished by how efficiently Glorfindel had undressed him, Gildor looked around him, tilting his head back to see where the warrior had deposited his clothes. His hand patted his left upper thigh to illustrate. “It was in my pocket,” he said.

It was only now he remembered how sex with Glorfindel made him feel, and having been denied all day, Gildor was certain Glorfindel would make it count. Before he could begin to speak, his lover had found the oil and was already beginning to prepare him. Gildor gasped instead of speaking. Just how had Glorfindel managed to get undressed so quickly too?

“Oh, Glorfindel,” he said, and the blond warrior smirked. “Be gentle,” Gildor pleaded on a breath, longing to moan already, his gaze caught by the darkened blue of his lover’s eyes. “We still have to walk all the way back down into the valley after this.”

Glorfindel laughed, while Gildor closed his eyes to better appreciate the feeling of the warrior’s fingers inside him. “Worry not, _dúlinnor nín_ , if you tire I will carry you home.”

For an instant, he could see himself laid in Glorfindel’s arms as he strode back into Imladris, his fellow warriors greeting him raucously. “You wouldn’t!” Gildor said, then realised he was almost asking for it. “You won’t. I will get back myself if I have to crawl.”

At last, there was nothing to stop them, and Glorfindel arranged Gildor the way he always liked. But then Gildor had grown to like it too, and so he made no protest. He would feel his lover deep this way. But Glorfindel was more serious now as he looked down. “I will be gentle,” he promised, gifting Gildor with a kiss as he eased inside.

Gildor’s breath caught, as it always did, and he wondered how he could hold all of Glorfindel, as he always did. The pleasure that was so close to pain eased into pure ecstasy with the next breath, and he did moan now, a soft sound which conveyed all he felt.

Glorfindel was as good as his words, and each time he moved, it was slow, and deep, and seemed to resonate in Gildor’s very core. He felt open and tender, and he looked up at the warrior with unabashed love. “Always,” he whispered, and he reached up to touch Glorfindel’s chest, so strong and broad. His other hand was fisted in his hair as he lay beneath his lover.

“Always?” Glorfindel was amused, and he smirked down at Gildor. “Should I guess? You want me in you, like this, always?”

“Well, yes,” Gildor replied, not at all reluctant to admit it. “But I also meant I will always love you.” Glorfindel’s heart beat under his hand, and his own matched tempo. “But if you’re asking, then yes. I will never complain about this, either. Even if I have to crawl the length of Imladris.” He grinned, cheeky.

Glorfindel suddenly leaned close with a deep moan of pleasure. “You keep making me imagine you on your knees,” he said. “I can tell you want it. Why don’t you do that for me now. Here.” It wasn’t a question. Glorfindel pulled away and waited. Gildor trembled but hurried to put himself into the new position, on his hands and knees just as his lover seemed to want. As he himself wanted. Glorfindel was right.

“Not quite like that,” Glorfindel said tenderly, his large hands resting on Gildor’s hips, warm compared to the open air. “Sit back upon me.”

In short order, Gildor found himself lowered carefully onto Glorfindel’s thick cock, made breathless by the sensation of being filled all over again. Glorfindel was sitting back on his heels, while Gildor was kneeling, thighs widespread. He whimpered when Glorfindel’s hands splayed over his chest to keep him upright, instead of allowing him to lower his upper body as felt natural. He covered Glorfindel’s hands with his own, as if he would fall if let go.

It was strange. Glorfindel wasn’t pressing against his prostate - the angle was too strange for that - and yet he felt so full, so possessed. He leaned his head back against his lover’s shoulder, looking up into his eyes, and Glorfindel’s face was full of love. A sudden sharp thrust upwards made Gildor cry out.

Glorfindel only chuckled, one hand moving down, and Gildor was so taken up with the sensation of being owned by the warrior he didn’t realise what was afoot until Glorfindel’s palm was closed around him, hot where he was hot, squeezing tenderly. He cried out again.

“Sing for me, _dúlinnor_ ,” Glorfindel murmured, nuzzling at Gildor’s hair, alternately thrusting and caressing until Gildor did not know anything except for Glorfindel, and he did sing, crying out his pleasure to the hills he’d always loved.

Glorfindel followed fast enough, and afterward they found themselves on the soft grass, Gildor tucked against Glorfindel, with his head on his lover’s shoulder and a hand on Glorfindel’s muscular chest. He felt gloriously alive, the sun warm on his skin and turning Glorfindel’s curls into a halo of gold. He sighed happily as his lover stroked his arm.

“A very pretty song, _dúlinnor nín_.” Glorfindel sounded inordinately pleased with himself, and he lifted his head to catch a smirk.

“Wicked elf,” he laughed. “And in a minute, you’ll tell me you want to hear another verse.” A sweet tingle ran up his spine as he thought about another round of lovemaking, under the sun’s gentle eye. “I will be worn out by supper at this rate.”

“I have great faith in your recuperative abilities, since I have not managed to make you limp yet.” Glorfindel laughed as he gave an indignant yelp. “Do not get ruffled, _bain nín_. I am teasing, even if you look most beautiful like this.”

“Oh, rumpled and with grass in my hair?” He nuzzled his lover’s shoulder, pleased at the tender compliment. “It does feel good to be out of doors, though. I will allow that much.” He sighed again as Glorfindel’s fingers traced his arm where it rested on the warrior’s broad chest.

They dozed in the afternoon sun together, drifting pleasantly. No one ever came up here but him, Gildor knew. And so he relaxed utterly, waking when the golden afternoon had turned to a warm, mellow evening, the sun much lower in the sky.

Beside him, Glorfindel was still sleeping, his golden curls mussed and tumbling around his face and shoulders. He was so beautiful, at peace, his flaxen eyelashes at rest on his cheeks, those shapely lips curved into a slight smile. Gildor raised himself up on one elbow to drink in the sight happily.

In his sleep, he’d managed to drape one leg over Glorfindel, and now his thigh was nestled snugly between the warrior’s legs. Just one small movement, and he was laid atop his lover, biting his lip, concerned only with stealing a solitary kiss. He gasped when Glorfindel’s legs parted to make room for him, though he didn’t open his eyes.

Heart beating fast, Gildor wound a couple of those irresistible curls around his fingers, his other hand sliding up Glorfindel’s opposite arm, the flat of his palm moulding to the shape of the warrior’s bicep. He lowered his head, lips parted… Glorfindel’s eyelashes fluttered, and he moaned. It was a long, drawn out sound. Gildor smiled slowly. Was he dreaming? All of a sudden, that didn’t seem like a good thing.

“Glorfindel!” he said, more sharply than he intended, only for his lover to open his eyes and stretch lazily beneath him. He drew his eyebrows together in a silent question, and Gildor felt himself blush.

“I thought you were dreaming,” he said apologetically, as Glorfindel’s hand cupped his elbow, and the other reached up to rest heavily on the back of his neck, pulling him closer.

“So did I,” Glorfindel said, and then Gildor had the kiss he wanted, while beneath him Glorfindel’s body seemed to want to draw him in, deeper.

He responded, of course. How could he not? The very touch of Glorfindel’s skin against his was arousing, and the scent of sun-warmed elf intoxicating beyond measure. He was not alone in such an opinion, either, for he felt a definite hardness prodding him. He would have worried had it not, to be truthful.

But for the moment, he was busy with the kiss he had sought. Glorfindel might have opined he was made to be kissed, but the warrior was no less delectable, and he made a feast of exploring his lover’s mouth. He was especially proud of the moan he coaxed from Glorfindel when he nibbled a full lower lip.

He wondered if he would be allowed to go further, or if Glorfindel would seize control as was his wont. He could not help wanting to try, though. He let his hand drift down from Glorfindel’s bicep, trailing over a nipple and pausing to tease a bit. And still the warrior seemed content to kiss him, and allow him to explore freely.

Gildor felt his own arousal as sharp and bright, and he lifted his head, looking around them on the ground for the oil, barely able to think it - what was about to happen between them. Only as he grasped his prize and lifted it up to the sunshine, Glorfindel passive and waiting beneath him, he saw the quality of the light as it shone through the oil, and he suddenly sighed in frustration.

There was not time, not even stolen time. It had taken a few hours to walk up here, and while it would go faster on the way back down, they could not face it in the dark. Gildor could not be that foolhardy, not even for the promise of knowing Glorfindel’s body.

“We have to go,” he whispered, “and we must not tarry.” As he spoke, he was already moving away, pulling his clothes to him, trying to will his arousal away, though it would go soon enough if it was not attended.

“It is so late?” Glorfindel asked, surprised, but sitting up in turn and beginning to pull on his own clothes. He seemed dispirited at Gildor’s nod, and while there might not be time enough to claim him here, there was time for Gildor to lie a palm on Glorfindel’s cheek in a loving gesture.

“Can you keep that strange submissive mood of yours all the way down into the valley?” Gildor asked. Glorfindel smiled, but in apology.

“Honestly? Probably not…” He gave Gildor a look, up and down, then winked. Gildor rolled his eyes.

Gildor gathered up the remnants of the picnic things, with Glorfindel’s help, and they started back down into the valley. He resolved to bring Glorfindel back, though. It had been the most relaxing afternoon he had enjoyed in quite some time, and he quite relished the idea of making love in the open, as they had done.

Glorfindel reached out to take his hand as they walked, and it was curious how much he enjoyed the feeling. Even as they grew closer to the dwellings of Imladris, the warrior did not relinquish his hold. It made him curious, though, as to Glorfindel’s mood. Was he indeed trying to maintain his earlier compliance? He sincerely hoped so, because he had been toying with the idea of seeing his lover bound, and awaiting his pleasure.

He could feel his ear tips growing warm, and his breeches felt a bit tight. It was probably quite risky to play so with Glorfindel, and he wondered if that was half the attraction behind the notion. Association with Glorfindel was making him quite bold, he decided. He was not sure how wise it was, but he was enjoying it all the same.

“A penny for your thoughts,” Glorfindel said, sounding amused.

He turned to look up at his lover with a quick smile. “I was thinking it has been a marvellous day, and I do think the walk has given me an appetite. I might even want seconds, if they serve any of my favourites tonight.” He laughed when Glorfindel grabbed his chest in a parody of shock. “You are not the only one who can eat heartily, you know.”

Smirking, he shook himself free of Glorfindel’s hands and turned away, striding more quickly towards the lights in the dusk. Now that he had mentioned it, he really was quite ravenous. Glorfindel trotted to catch up with him, and something about that amused him too.

“Yes, but _you_ ,” Glorfindel said as he drew up alongside Gildor again, matching his speed. “You have very strange appetites today, _meleth nín_ ,” he pointed out. Gildor said nothing, but turned his head to look at his lover, giving him a quick, assessing glance up and down. There was no doubt what that look meant, and he saw Glorfindel’s mouth drop open in shock.

Gildor laughed as he walked, out loud, not bothering to disguise it or temper it in any way. He felt so wonderfully free. Perhaps it had been the pleasure of sharing that place with Glorfindel, with his love. Quite suddenly, despite what had happened between them at the beginning of the day, Gildor knew he wasn’t alone any longer. And it had been so very long. He’d lived for several thousand years. The longer he lived, the more certain he was that his love must be - like him - a survivor of the First Age, probably born in Valinor. Yet as the years passed their number dwindled, until he could count the eligible elves on his hands.

Actually, he’d been convinced by time that there was no one for him, and now here Glorfindel was, re-embodied and placed within his grasp. He remembered his prior fancy that he had been promised to Glorfindel, but was it really the other way around? Had Glorfindel been promised for him? It seemed like provenance. Reborn…

“Wait,” Glorfindel said, interrupting his thoughts and grasping his hands. With a start, Gildor realised they were back. Outside the walls of Imladris, there was no one around. The dinner bell must have been rung already. Glorfindel pulled him back, settling himself on the low wall of the very fountain they had dawdled by when they first showed themselves - together - to the other elves of Imladris.

Gildor stood before his lover, his lips parted to ask a question, but Glorfindel spoke first, looking up from his seated position. “When we go back inside,” he said softly. “You will no doubt do something silly, like imbibe too much wine, or eat a fig, and I will tease you. There and later, and you will melt for me until all I can think of is being in you.”

Gildor did not argue, for he knew it was true, so why was Glorfindel holding him back? Then he knew, and he bit his lip, his heart felt warm. “We are not back yet, not quite,” he said, and he pulled Gildor closer by their joined hands, parting his legs so that Gildor could stand between them. “Kiss me,” he said, lifting his face up.

He could not refuse such a lovely offer, and he cupped Glorfindel’s face between his hands, looking into his love’s eyes, so dark in the quiet evening. Those lips… would he ever have enough of them? He thought not, as he lowered his head to capture Glorfindel’s mouth in a tender kiss, savouring his beloved. Yes, Glorfindel had been promised for him. He was sure of it.

“I almost do not want to go inside,” he confessed. “I want to stay like this a while longer, with the peace from the afternoon still upon us, meleth nín. I know we cannot, but it is a sweet dream.” He ran his thumbs over Glorfindel’s cheekbones, and pressed another kiss to his lover’s lips. “Even miruvor does not make my blood so heated as your kisses. Just don’t tell Lord Elrond.”

It did feel like a dream, sitting in the twilight with Glorfindel before him. The very best sort of dream, the kind he had encouraged when he first left Aman, the kind that had faded quietly into the comfortable routine of being Elrond’s cartographer. Small excursions broke up the days otherwise spent hunched over his table and parchments, but even those began to blur into the tranquil sameness. Until now. Until Glorfindel brought light, and passion back into his life.

Glorfindel was kissing him back, and yet that subtle hint of submission was still there, at least until Gildor drew back for a breath. The warrior’s hands were resting loosely on his thighs, pulling him closer.

“If we do not go inside soon,” Glorfindel said softly. “You will not have time for seconds.” So saying, he thrust his own body forward from the wall to stand up, deliberately rubbing against Gildor in the process, who gave a startled gasp of pleasure.

“Wicked elf,” he murmured, so took up with the sensation of that he failed to realise Glorfindel’s hands had likewise moved, until he felt his buttocks squeezed. Gildor shook his head but did not say anything, and together they made their way inside, arms around each other. Gildor rested his head on Glorfindel’s shoulder as they walked. Little by little, almost with each step, the bewitching quality of the afternoon faded.

“I thought you said warriors had access to the kitchen at all times?” Gildor asked suddenly, feeling that he had been tricked in some way.

“Yes, that is true,” Glorfindel drawled. “But I don’t intend to let you be beyond the dinner hour.”

Glorfindel let him go to hold the door open for him, eyes twinkling in the lamplight that spilled out. “Back to normal, then,” Gildor muttered to himself as he swept inside, Glorfindel following him closely.

“Besides,” Glorfindel continued. “I think you need a little tonic, and since we cannot kiss at the table, miruvor will have to suffice.” Gildor froze, and then sighed as Glorfindel’s breath tickled the back of his neck. “On previous endurance, I expect to be escorting you to bed before the hour is out.”

Gildor frowned at his lover. “I have been drinking miruvor longer than you, wicked elf. It is the bottles of wine with which you ply me which make me less than steady.” He shivered a little in anticipation, however, giving the lie to his frown. His lover merely chuckled, and the sound of that deep laughter only made him shiver again. “And I intend to have seconds, if only to defend against all the wine.”

“I do like it when you lecture me, _bain nín_. You're quite fiery.” Glorfindel smirked as he escorted Gildor to a pair of open seats in the dining hall. “We will see how much fire you have later. I do hope quite a bit.”

He knew he was blushing, from the heat in his cheeks and ear tips. He ducked his head as he sat, his long hair swinging forward to hide his face, and strong fingers brushed his ear as his hair was tucked behind it.

“Do not hide, _mîr nín_. Never hide. You should shine brightly, so all can see how beautiful you are.” Glorfindel’s voice was low, and sent a thrill through him. “As long as they remember you are mine.”

It was as he feared, and though he did manage to get seconds of his favourites, Glorfindel had a way of constantly filling his goblet with wine, and causing him to drink it, so that indeed, before the hour was out Gildor found himself leaning heavily on his lover’s arm as they walked down the corridor.

“What will you do to me tonight?” he asked, curious, and very tipsy indeed.

“Well, I won’t be tying you up,” Glorfindel said mysteriously, and Gildor stopped dead, swaying on his feet as he looked at his lover.

“You won’t?” he said, woebegone, uncaring when Glorfindel laughed at him, tugging gently on his hands to encourage him to move again. Somehow, he managed to trip over his own feet, and ended up held in Glorfindel’s arms as the warrior took most of his weight.

“Oops,” he said, and found his lips close to Glorfindel’s ear, so kissed him there. “I want you so much,” he said drunkenly, pursuing the thought of having Glorfindel even though the promise of it in his lover was gone. “My way. You would enjoy it,” he said, trying hard to sound persuasive. Glorfindel laughed.

“How will you do that, when you can’t even stay on your feet?” he asked, and Gildor shrugged, puffing out his breath. Details! With some concentration, he took his own weight again, and before long they were in Glorfindel’s room.

He was no help at all in undressing, but he quite enjoyed Glorfindel’s attention as he was stripped of his tunic and breeches. The candlelight was very distracting, and he found himself admiring the play of light and shadow across Glorfindel’s face. He was quite proud of remaining upright, mostly, even if he needed to lean against Glorfindel’s sturdy wardrobe to do so.

Glorfindel untangled his fingers from the warrior’s lush curls, pressing a kiss to the busy digits. “Do you think you can stay there while I get undressed?” he asked, sounding amused.

He blew out another breath. “Of course I can.” He pushed himself fully upright. “But I think I would rather be there.” He waved vaguely in the direction of the bed. “You can join me when you are ready, of course.” He pretended not to hear his lover’s delighted laughter as he made his way to the bed.

Of course, Glorfindel was right behind him, warm and solid as his arms encircled Gildor. “I am not sure I should let you climb into bed all on your own. You might get lost among the pillows.”

He huffed as Glorfindel’s strong hands cupped his buttocks, lifting him onto the bed. “I would never get lost, because I would be able to find you.” He scrambled further up the bed, and turned to give Glorfindel a cheeky grin. “Now come here, and stop making me wait.”

“You will wait as long as I say,” Glorfindel announced loftily, teasing, and Gildor flopped onto his back with a sigh. The alcohol made him impatient, he knew, and Glorfindel’s antics were not amusing to him at all. “You will wait until I am undressed.”

Yet the warrior made such a tease of removing his clothing, Gildor could not look away, and he thought that if he had to endure much more of this, he would drool. Little by little, Glorfindel revealed himself, and Gildor lay on the bed as if enchanted by the sight, his hand automatically reaching for his erection to ease the lust in him that burned so brightly in his blood.

At last, Glorfindel noticed him touching himself, and his eyes widened in fun. “I see,” he said, walked slowly to the bed, completely naked now. “Are you looking to be restrained?”

“You said you wouldn’t tie me up,” Gildor responded, breathless when Glorfindel flexed his muscles, his skin a beautiful bronze in the lamplight.

“I don’t need to tie you up to restrain you,” Glorfindel said, crawling onto the bed above him, looking down at the movement of Gildor’s hand. Sensing he would soon be prevented from it, Gildor sped up, biting his lip, wondering if he would manage to give himself pleasure before Glorfindel took control.

“You have no idea how beautiful you are like this. You are flushed, your hair is mussed, and you look wanton as you touch yourself so urgently. Would you stop if I told you to?” Glorfindel’s voice was a marvel, a dark and wicked purr which made him move faster. “Or would you hurry to finish, and decorate yourself with your essence? Perhaps I will have you clean your own fingers. I think I might like to see that, _bain nín_.”

He gasped, Glorfindel’s words only spurring him onward. He could feel the first tugs which heralded release, the way his body tightened in anticipation. It was so hot, as though Glorfindel radiated heat, and he could only absorb it and reflect it back. His head fell back, and his hips lifted as he groaned.

“Yes, you’re nearly there, my fierce beauty. Spill for me, and then I will take you, until you forget your own name.” Glorfindel watched, eyes dark in the lamplight, and he cried out as he felt himself let go, his seed hot on his fingers. The warrior made a noise, lustful and needy, one strong hand resting on his thigh. “And only then will you spill again, _mîr nín_. This I promise you.”

He shivered, both from the strength of his orgasm and from the anticipation of what awaited him. Oh, he had teased Glorfindel a bit too much, and he would pay, but what a glorious price it would be. Perhaps it was the wine giving him such confidence, although he did not care. It was well worth it, even when Glorfindel captured his hand, freed his fingers from their grip on his cock, and raised them to his lips.

“Clean them,” Glorfindel commanded, and he shivered again as his tongue darted out to lap at his fingers. He watched the warrior’s eye dilate with desire, and he felt suddenly powerful.

The taste and the scent of his release did not shock him. He’d tasted himself before, but never with a witness, as Glorfindel was witnessing him now. The warrior looked so aroused, watching him, and Gildor withdrew his tongue, meaning perhaps to suck on his own fingers but ended up moaning at the expression on Glorfindel’s face, smearing his own release on his lips.

In one instant, he was looking up into Glorfindel’s eyes, and in the next his eyes were closed as his lover kissed him fiercely. Their lips were slippery with his seed, making the kiss a messy thing with tongues and saliva and his own essence. Gildor’s hand was on the side of Glorfindel’s face, what remained on his fingers smudged over his cheekbone and jaw.

A moment after that, Glorfindel was pressing him down into the bed, and he felt how hard and hot Glorfindel was for him, automatically raising his knees. But then that didn’t seem to be enough, and Glorfindel pulled away, ending the kiss long enough to slip his muscled biceps under Gildor’s legs, holding him in such a way he could hardly move.

The kiss resumed, only this time Gildor could feel Glorfindel seeking entry inside him, and he thought to raise a voice of protest, unprepared as he was, but it was only a muffled sound while the warrior’s tongue was so deep in him.

There was a hard, almost brutal movement, and Gildor might have screamed if Glorfindel had accomplished his goal, but the resistance of Gildor’s body didn’t seem pleasing to him either, and he broke the kiss again, this time with a growl of impatience, one hand searching the bedside table for oil, knocking away various other items that had accumulated there.

Gildor grunted as a thick finger breached him, slick with oil. It thrust once, twice, and withdrew, to be followed by Glorfindel pressing hard again. He was barely ready, but he was accustomed enough to his lover’s girth to confine himself to a hiss, and then he was full. He could not move, could barely wriggle, and somewhere in the depths of his thoughts, he reminded himself he had certainly invoked this response. He was not entirely displeased with how strong a reaction he had gotten.

It was still too soon for him to rouse again, but he could still feel those bursts of pleasure as Glorfindel fucked him, fast and hard. His hands were wrapped around his lover’s powerful biceps, above his pinioned legs, and his fingers dug into muscle which felt like dwarven steel. “ _Ai_ , Valar,” he managed to gasp. “My head spins!”

He could not tell if it was the wine, coupled with the miruvor, or if it was simply the sweet intoxication of being had by Glorfindel, without regard to anything but sensation. He did love the gentle lovemaking, but this, this furious pace was the stuff of dreams come to life.

Glorfindel’s growl sent new shivers through him. He knew he could not fall, but the room was slipping away from him, and he was lost to pleasure, mindless under the warrior’s thrusts. “Please…” He was not even sure what he pleaded for. “Glorfindel, _meleth nín_.”

He could not seem to focus, nor keep his eyes open, the intensity of being claimed like this took all of his attention. His body had surrendered long before Glorfindel found release, and when he did there was hardly any relief for Gildor. His nerves continued to fire, as if the warrior was still taking him, and he was let go, but could not move.

Gildor wasn’t truly aware anymore, but he felt so sensitive when a strong hand wrapped around his newly aroused cock, and he hissed but did not try to move away. The surrender remained and kept him in his place, even when the hand changed to the soft velvet of generous lips and the perfect wet sucking heat of a mouth on him. Then it was not a mouth, it was a hand again, softened and slippery with the oil used to fuck him. Bites to his ribs, a tongue on his nipple, making him gasp and beg.

“I would have known you up there on the hill,” his lover said, and Gildor’s eyes focused enough to see the beauty of his lover, but he could not comprehend the words. “Now you are beyond such thoughts, _bain nín_.” He chuckled, squeezing his hand, and Gildor moaned, reaching out to touch that perfect hair.

“Gloredhel,” he whispered. “You remind me of Laurelin.” The blue eyes of his lover softened with pleasure at his words, and yet he laughed again.

“So you have even forgotten my name?” he pondered, then his hand became quick and demanding, making Gildor arch up from the bed, his breath stalling. “Very well. You will come for me now.”

As if it were a command, he obeyed, driven on by the touch of his lover’s hand on him, drawing his climax from him mercilessly, making certain to get every drop from him until he was shaking and moaning in protest. Only then did the hand on him still. He was so tired. Gildor turned toward his blond companion and snuggled close, feeling gentle kisses placed upon his hair.

He felt the pull of reverie, but his lover’s voice in his ear roused him somewhat. “Not quite yet, _mîr nín_. I know you are tired, but we have one last thing to do.” He felt the gentlest of kisses pressed to his wrist, and he frowned a little. Why was Glorfindel so worried about his wrist?

“Let us put some more of that ointment on you, and perhaps...well, I am getting ahead of myself.” Glorfindel coaxed him to sit up, piling pillows behind him. “You are just so beautiful, do you know that? My Noldo beauty. Open your eyes for me.”

Glorfindel’s hands were so gentle as he applied the ointment, massaging it in as though he were the most delicate crystal. He watched those thick fingers, washed clean--when had that happened? He frowned at the shadows under his skin, and it took a moment for him to remember how he had gotten the bruises.

A cup of cool water was pressed into his hands. “Drink. It will help, I promise.” He drank obediently, and savoured the sweet water as it soothed his throat. He stopped when he was half done, and looked over the rim at his lover.

“Thank you, _meleth nín_.” He lowered the cup, pushed it back into Glorfindel’s hands. “I want to sleep,” he added, feeling a bit peevish. “I do not think I could manage any more tonight, really.”

Gildor sank down into the pillows as Glorfindel turned away to put the cup down, and his eyes drifted closed. “You must make time for one more thing,” Glorfindel said, and the gravity in his tone made Gildor blink himself awake. He’d never heard his lover sound so serious.

“What is it?” he asked, trying to find enough energy for alarm.

“I can’t be allowed to hurt you,” Glorfindel muttered quietly, looking down at his own hands. “I can’t face another morning like the one just gone.” He spoke earnestly now, pleading gaze directed right at Gildor. His heart melted, but he understood what Glorfindel meant. They were in his room. In his bed. Though he understood, a part of him hurt terribly.

“Would you like me to leave?” he asked quietly, and then was relieved beyond measure when Glorfindel shook his head, resolute.

“No…” he said. “Not that.” He paused, and then flashed Gildor a quick, tight, humourless smile. “I want you to tie me up to sleep.”

Despite the turn of the conversation, Gildor’s happy, drowsy, relaxed mood returned in a fraction of a second, and he laughed, rolling around on the bed while Glorfindel stared at him. “You might not find this funny,” he managed at last. “But I do!” He laughed again, somehow managing to lean over the width of the bed to where those bindings were that Glorfindel had used on him. To his surprise, the warrior’s strong hands covered his own.

“Not those,” he said, ignoring Gildor’s amusement, still serious. “Not for me.” So saying he rose and made his way to a large trunk in the corner of the room, only to return with very serious looking ropes.

He swallowed, looking at the ropes. They were silk, woven so tightly even Glorfindel’s impressive strength would not part them. He held them for a moment, and looked up at Glorfindel. “You’re serious, aren’t you? You really want me to tie you up.” He looked at the carved wooden headboard, contemplating how well it might hold his lover. “You are quite aware I am a cartographer, and not someone who runs about tying elves up?”

Glorfindel climbed back into the bed, and settled himself next to Gildor with a deep sigh. “I do not dare take the chance of dreaming, and hurting you. It is the only way.” He held out his wrists. “I will tell you if the knots are sufficient.”

He raised an eyebrow at the blond warrior. “You do realise I will most likely take full advantage of this in the morning?”

He got what he wanted, as Glorfindel’s mouth quirked into a smile. “ _Á nute ar lá lertan nore, hérince_.”

“Wicked elf,” he retorted, and he leaned over to kiss Glorfindel. “I will remind you of those words in the morning, you know.” He began to truss Glorfindel’s wrists, careful not to bind them tightly enough to hamper circulation.

When he had finished, he sat back on his knees as Glorfindel tested the ropes, his biceps straining a little. Then to his dismay, he saw the ineffective knots he had made begin to unravel. He sighed when Glorfindel was free, and almost expected some kind of teasing, but Glorfindel merely put the lengths of rope back into his hands.

“Do better,” he said. Gildor rolled his eyes but went to work again, this time with Glorfindel instructing him how to make the best knots, until at last they were finished. This time the warrior could not escape them, try as he might, and Gildor felt a stirring of interest despite his tiredness when he saw Glorfindel’s muscles bulge like that. He was so strong. The veins in his biceps stood out against his skin, and Gildor longed to trace them with his fingers, perhaps his lips.

Something in his eyes must have given him away, because Glorfindel relaxed back and laughed. “Ankles too,” he instructed. “If you don’t mind.”

Taking the rest of the ropes, Gildor made the same knots there, which resulted in Glorfindel tied spreadeagled to the bed. It was an extremely good look on him, and Gildor bit his lip, but he really was tired, and he only took a few minutes to cuddle up close to his lover’s restrained form. Really, it was good Glorfindel had such a large bed! By necessity he had to drape his legs over Glorfindel, and then was comfortable.

He had planned to stay awake until he was sure Glorfindel was able to sleep like this, but then, after pressing a few loving kisses to his lover’s waist, he used Glorfindel’s shoulder as a pillow and drifted off quickly. In the morning, Glorfindel appeared to have slept without dreaming. Gildor, however, had dreamed of nothing but the intoxicating promise of a helpless Glorfindel.

 

To be continued...

 

**Authors' Note:** Thank you for reading – we hope you had fun! Why not leave a comment? 

 

**Translations:**

_Bain nín –_ my beauty

_dúlinnor nín –_ my nightingale

_meleth nín –_ my love

_mîr nín_ – my treasure

_Á nute ar lá lertan nore, hérince –_ Tie me up so that I cannot escape, my little master


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Chapter Thirteen**

Waking to the sight of Glorfindel, spread out and at his mercy, was every bit as wonderful as he had dreamed. The warrior’s muscular chest rose and fell with his even breaths, and his skin was heated silk under Gildor’s hand. He checked the bindings tentatively, and was pleased to see the knots appeared to have held through the night.

In the spirit of experimentation, he leaned over, tucking his hair behind one ear. Glorfindel’s nipple was ever so slightly peaked, and he dragged his tongue over it, wetting it nicely, and then blew gently to watch it harden. It was such a luscious sight, he covered it with his mouth and suckled, gently at first and then with a touch of teeth.

Gildor switched his attention to the other nipple, teasing it into hardness as well. He did not quite dare to look up, to see if Glorfindel was awake. It was easier, and much nicer, to pretend he was in his own little playground, and he kissed his way over to the middle of the warrior’s broad chest, to nuzzle the golden hair which intrigued him endlessly.

Of course, that tempted him to begin to kiss his way down, over Glorfindel’s taut, flat belly, hip bones standing in sharp relief to the sculpted muscles. He relished the heat radiating from his lover’s skin. Glorfindel was a furnace, and it stoked the heat in his own blood as he worked his way ever lower.

The centre of that heat was just below his jaw as Glorfindel awoke. “Good morning, _hérince_ ,” he said, and Gildor temporarily forgot about tormenting his lover any further in favour of moving back up the bed to look down into his eyes.

Feeling rather wicked, he decided to play along. “ _Melethron_ ,” he said with reproach. “You won’t be calling me that for long. Not now that I have you where I want you.”

Glorfindel’s eyes darkened. “I know where you want me,” he flashed back, and Gildor laughed in delight. He could not help thinking of it when Glorfindel was so suggestive, but his desire didn’t deter him in the least.

“Do you really?” he asked, his gaze flicking to the ropes, which he did not intend to untie for some time. Gildor waited, but his lover did not so much as blink. “Are you going to struggle?”

At last, Glorfindel smiled, and he shook his head slowly from side to side. “No,” he said simply.

Dawdling his fingers around on the golden hair that adorned Glorfindel’s chest, he sneaked a casual look from beneath his eyelashes. “Care to indulge in a little wager?” he asked innocently. Glorfindel’s lip twitched, but he did not otherwise answer. “If you don’t struggle, I’ll set you free. Is that agreeable?” Glorfindel looked like he could hardly believe his luck, and he nodded quickly.

Smirking, Gildor got up from the bed, and wandered over to the trunk where the ropes had come from. “What else do you have in here?” he wondered out loud. He was walking away, so he couldn’t see, but he could hear the sudden movement as Glorfindel struggled to free himself from the ropes, and he could not help giggling.

It was almost intimidating, the assortment of items Glorfindel had amassed. He felt a hot flush run through him when it occurred to him Glorfindel acquired these since his return. He could only wonder about the other partners who had shared in Glorfindel’s games.

Gildor shook himself out of those musings quickly. Now was not the time for such things, not when he had Glorfindel at his mercy. His lover had enjoyed teasing him well enough, and perhaps it was time to turn the tables a bit. He saw a lovely, fluffy bundle of feathers, mounted on a carved wooden handle. It was just the thing, he decided. As he lifted it, he saw the blindfold Glorfindel used on him, and he felt his cheeks warm at the memory. Somehow, he did not think Glorfindel would be easily blindfolded.

But now, before he lost his nerve, he turned and sauntered back to the bed, his toy concealed behind his back. “Oh, my dear Glorfindel, are you trying to lose the wager so soon? We never got a chance to discuss what I would get if you struggled.”

“When did you become so wicked?” the warrior shot back. His biceps bulged quite nicely, Gildor decided. He could see the veins he had noticed last night, raised again on Glorfindel’s arms, and he climbed up beside his lover, tracing the veins with one finger. He could feel Glorfindel shudder as he ran his finger along the warrior’s arm, getting halfway down the forearm before reversing direction.

“I’ve had a very good tutor in the arts of teasing,” Gildor said, with a smirk for his lover. He brought out the feathers, twirling them in his fingers. “I wonder, will I be able to get you to forget everything but my name? Should that be my prize?”

Now that he’d seen what Gildor had concealed behind his back, Glorfindel seemed to settle back into being supremely confident. “Ha!” he uttered, smiling. “Try it!”

Gildor raised an eyebrow, but was not put off by his lover at all. With all the thorough detailed attention at his disposal, he began exploring Glorfindel’s body with the sweep of the feathers, his quick mind ascertaining which parts were particularly sensitive.

At first, Glorfindel seemed unaffected, but then every now and again he might giggle, or sigh. Sometimes he would moan. Gildor began questioning him at those times, returning to those parts again and again until his lover was actually trembling beneath the light caress.

He already knew Glorfindel’s body rather well, but he would not forget Glorfindel’s reactions now, and he filed each and every one of them away while he pursued them, finding himself a little breathless and longing to touch with his hands.

It was not long before he was following the path of the feathers with a stroke of his hand, or a lick, or a gentle nibble with his teeth. He left a small love bite on the inside of Glorfindel’s left thigh, enjoying how the large muscle contracted beneath him. Sweeping the feathers up the hard ridge of Glorfindel’s cock, he followed that with his tongue, almost moaning when he tasted the pre come at the head.

Glorfindel was making repeated noises now; pleas, even, and his body was in constant motion, though he wasn’t really struggling. Instead, he was writhing, covered in sweat, his nipples and his cock so hard. He finished his exploration with the feathers by teasing at the crease between his lover’s buttocks, surprised and aroused when Glorfindel tried to spread his legs wider.

“Oh, _melethron_ ,” he purred. “Are you offering?” He looked at the warrior, seeing the need in every line of that magnificent physique. It was almost overwhelming, and he could feel his cock twitch against his own belly. He remembered, with a shiver up his spine, what had happened the last time he had come close to being allowed to take Glorfindel. This time, though, he would not wind up on his back, with Glorfindel doing the taking.

He reached for the oil, proud of the fact his hand did not tremble. “I will not refuse such an offer.” He dribbled a generous amount on his fingers, aware he would need to prepare Glorfindel well. He would never match his lover’s girth, but he was more used to being filled. He slid his finger where he had teased with the feathers, preparing Glorfindel with care. His lover was so tight around his finger, and he could feel the warrior tremble as he pressed in.

“ _Aníra nín_ , you feel so very good,” he murmured. “Trust me, Glorfindel. Trust me as I trust you.” He looked up at his lover, looking for confirmation the warrior could handle this. He felt a jolt of raw lust when he looked into Glorfindel’s eyes, the blue obscured by the way they were dilated with need. The rich golden curls framed his flushed cheeks, and the warrior was biting his lip with a groan.

“I trust you,” Glorfindel whispered, his voice husky and raw. “Do not tease me longer.” He looked unbearably beautiful, Gildor decided, as he strained against his bonds. He felt a tiny thrill as it occurred to him this was what Glorfindel saw when he was bound and helpless before the warrior.

Gildor was no virgin. He had known his lovers this way, as much as he had known the pleasure of being taken by them. Yet somehow this was different, and despite Glorfindel’s plea, he couldn’t help pleasuring himself as he applied oil to his cock, relishing the way his lover looked, hair in disarray on the pillow, eyes such a deep blue they reminded him of the sea.

From the way Glorfindel felt around the invading fingers of his other hand, he realised something else: that his previous lovers had not known him this way. Or very, very few of them. Quite suddenly he didn’t want Glorfindel to struggle at all. Instead he wanted Glorfindel to continue looking at him just like that, continue with those pleading whispers. Everything encouraged him, and he was so overcome with bright, burning lust that he almost missed that first moment.

Gildor savoured the resistance of Glorfindel’s body. Despite the somewhat hasty preparation, he had to force it, and it made his blood feel like quicksilver inside him. Suddenly he thrust - hard - sinking into that heat two or three inches, drawing a surprised cry from his golden lover.

He pulled back only to prepare for thrusting forward again, this time deeper. He was aware of everything, while Glorfindel’s eyes unfocused in cloudy pleasure. “Gildor,” he moaned, twisting his head and pulling on the ropes that held his arms. His legs were trying to raise up, stymied by the ties that bound his ankles. “Á care ancare! Amalimbe!”

Gildor caught his breath, nudging himself forward in a series of short movements. “Open up to me, then,” he said, gasping in arousal at Glorfindel’s desire. “Give me your body; _nát melme cuilenyava_ …”

Each time he thrust, he dipped deeper into the molten core of his lover. Glorfindel was almost incandescent with need, and it was all he could do to maintain his own equilibrium in the face of his lover’s desire. He knew he needed to stay in control, both to keep faith with his lover, and to make sure he did not trigger anything dark within Glorfindel, for it was clear to him Glorfindel was well and truly lost in his pleasure. The warrior’s control was absent, and he needed to be strong for them both.

Gildor bit back a cry as he realised how strong Glorfindel had been, when Glorfindel had taken him to the very limits of endurance, and his heart swelled anew with love for his blond warrior. Truly the Valar had outdone themselves when Glorfindel’s _fëa_ was given form.

Glorfindel was making those soft noises again, pleading without words, and he pressed into the welcoming heat. “ _Á rihta amalencave, ani lave sa-ista aqua_ ,” he murmured, his voice tight with desire.

Beneath him, Glorfindel shivered, but his muscles relaxed a little, and Gildor moved faster, driving deep. He insinuated his still-oiled hand between them, stroking Glorfindel’s cock. He wanted to see his lover come undone, and know he had been the one to bring the warrior to release.

“Gildor…” The cry was wrung from Glorfindel’s lips as he strained a final time against the ropes. He could feel the way the warrior’s cock seemed to thicken in his hand, impossibly so, and then Glorfindel spilled over his fingers.

His cock remained hard in Gildor’s hand for at least a minute, his release drawn from him in fading pulses. His hand was warm and wet with Glorfindel’s release, and it seeped between his fingers until he could not keep a properly firm grip, but by then it was over anyway.

He’d been determined to ride out his lover’s release, but Glorfindel’s body was so deliciously tight, and when it throbbed around him to the same tempo as Glorfindel’s orgasm, he found he couldn’t hold back, and he followed his lover soon after, staying inside him until he felt too sensitive and had to pull away.

After that, he fell away to the side, then moulded himself to the warrior’s prone body, happy.

“How was it?” Glorfindel asked quietly, and Gildor grinned.

“Spectacular!” he said. When Glorfindel did not reply, he felt suddenly insecure, despite his experience, because Glorfindel seemed to know so much. Before he could frame the question, the warrior finally responded.

“Spectacular,” he said, as if tasting the word. “I think I can go with it. You were that.”

Gildor slid his arm across Glorfindel’s chest and turned to look into his eyes. “Do you think you could untie me now?” he asked. “It’s been a long night, and my arms hurt.”

Smiling, Gildor complied with the request, making quick work of the knots, setting Glorfindel free. To his surprise, the warrior moaned as he brought his arms down from the open position.

“Are you all right?” he asked in sudden concern. Glorfindel shrugged, then grimaced.

“Just sore. I will recover now that I am not expected to work.”

Gildor frowned, and sat up, looking among the items on the table for the ointment Elrond had given him. “Let me rub some of this in, after we bathe. It should help with the soreness, I think. I should have been quicker to free you.”

Glorfindel smirked as Gildor set to work on his ankles. “If you had, you would never have gotten your chance.” He laughed as Gildor shot him an indignant look over his shoulder. “You know it’s true. I would have had you on your back and been buried in you before you could blink.”

“Wicked elf,” he muttered, coiling the rope up neatly. “How are your legs?” He watched Glorfindel, anxious, as his lover bent his knees.

“Not as sore as my arms.” Glorfindel raised a brow, until Gildor settled back down, at his side, head on the blond’s shoulder. “This feels better, though.”

“We are going to have to think of something better.” He sighed and snuggled closer. “At some point, you will need to return to your duties, and you cannot be sore and achy. If only we knew why you were having the dreams, perhaps we could do something more. I feel so helpless!”

“And you sound so fierce.” Glorfindel pressed a kiss to Gildor’s head. “You are also completely spectacular. Now, let us cuddle for ten minutes, and we will go bathe.”

Gildor was happy with that suggestion, and it turned out to be longer than ten minutes while they dozed lightly together, not quite asleep, as the sun rose higher in the sky. It was good to linger, not least because they still required to have the baths to themselves so that no one could observe and question the marks on Gildor’s skin, though they were fading quickly thanks to Lord Elrond’s preparation.

 

To be continued...

 

**Authors' Note:** Thank you for reading – we hope you enjoyed that little role reversal! Please leave a comment if you can. Xx

 

**Translations (Quenya):**

_hérince_ – little master

_Á care ancare! Amalimbe!_ \- Harder! Faster!

_nát melme cuilenyava_ – you are the love of my life

_Á rihta amalencave, ani lave sa-ista aqua_ – Slow down, let me feel it all

 

**Translations (Sindarin):**

_ melethron _ – lover

_Aníra nín_ – my desire

_fëa_ – soul/spirit


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**Chapter Fourteen**

Though Glorfindel stole a few touches, they went through a familiar ritual, washing each other’s hair. Gildor took his time, making Glorfindel lean back completely in the water, so the heat of it would seep into his sore shoulders.

Long ago, one of his former lovers had been a healer, like Lord Elrond himself. He’d been a frequent visitor to Imladris while he studied, and Gildor had picked up some knowledge from him. Not so much academic knowledge, but those parts of the healers’ arts that could be used to give pleasure, such as massage.

Upon their return to Glorfindel’s room, Gildor had his lover lie down on the bed, and treated him to a slow, lingering massage to relieve the muscles further. He was not surprised to feel Glorfindel relax beneath his hands, occasional low groans of pleasure coming from him. The oil he had used was light, and as it became heated, sinking into Glorfindel’s skin, Gildor finally truly understood what a personal thing this was. He hadn’t really known before now. In the movements and press of his hands, all of his love was expressed in silence.

Glorfindel was completely still beneath his hands, breaths coming slow and regular. If he did not hear the soft groans, he might have thought his lover had slipped back into reverie. He smiled, feeling very tender and peaceful as he continued to work on Glorfindel’s muscular shoulders. His own wrists seemed to take some good from the movement as well, and it increased his feeling of well-being, right up until Glorfindel’s stomach let out a small rumble.

He could not help but giggle. Glorfindel’s appetites, all of them, were as large and expansive as the elf himself. He worked a small knot loose, and sat back. “I should go and fetch us breakfast. You’re so relaxed right now, and it seems a shame for us to have to get up, and dress, and go to the dining hall. We can have a sort of picnic, right here.”

He wiped his hands on a cloth, admiring the strong back and powerful frame of his lover. “Oh, you are so beautiful, _melethron_. You make me wonder what I’ve done, for the Valar to put us together again. Whatever it was, I would be pleased to do it again, and again.” His voice was light, and full of joy.

“You only had to be yourself,” Glorfindel replied, a deep purr which sent lovely shivers through him. “I do not know where you learned to massage like that, but I am very glad you did learn. Thank you, _bain nín_.” He turned his head. “You do not need to fetch food for me. It will do me good to get up, I think.”

Gildor allowed that and turned away to find some clothes to wear, being as he was himself only clad in the robe he took to the bath. “Well, that is probably for the best,” he commented, aware that Glorfindel was standing close behind him. “I don’t know where I would find a wheelbarrow at this time in the morning.”

For a moment, there was silence, and then as if it had clicked, Glorfindel suddenly tackled him from behind, picking him up and tossing him onto the bed easily. Before he could get up again, the warrior was on top of him, pressing him down.

“Wheelbarrow?” he queried, a dangerous and playful glint in his eyes. Gildor would not be deterred, and merely reached up to cup Glorfindel’s face in one hand.

“But, _meleth_ ,” he said. “You know how much you like the fruit salad they have at breakfast, and the cooked meats. Plus there’s the bread, and tea, and oatmeal that you like.” He smirked as he watched Glorfindel, torn between satisfying his hunger, or the growing erection that was pressed so tightly against Gildor’s thigh. “Oh, and those pastries with the jam…” he said deliberately.

Suddenly, Glorfindel relaxed in defeat, all of his weight on Gildor’s slighter frame. Gildor laughed, running his fingers through his lover’s hair. “Let us get dressed,” he said softly. “We can always come back here afterwards and -” He stalled when he felt Glorfindel licking at his neck, his tongue wet and hot.

“You taste nice too,” Glorfindel said deeply, his voice vibrating right against Gildor’s ear. It made him shiver, and he felt his body become inviting as Glorfindel’s hands roved over his skin beneath his robe, arranging him.

It wasn’t really like being seduced, because his body was so eager he was hard already. Glorfindel knew him well, knew all the things to do so that all he could think about was feeling the perfection of Glorfindel inside him. He helped with the sleeves of his robe, getting free of them as he half sat up, reclining back down with his knees raised, his legs wrapped loosely around Glorfindel encouragingly.

When he was ready to plead, thanks to the heady kisses and precise touches his lover used on him, Glorfindel suddenly let him go, standing up and turning away. “Get dressed, little tease,” he said jovially. Gildor only groaned and threw a pillow at him.

“Just see if you get any dessert later, wicked elf,” he said, but he scrambled off the bed and began to dress hastily. It took a bit of doing to make his breeches fasten, but his tunic covered any indiscretions nicely, and he took Glorfindel’s hand as they went to find sustenance.

After they had eaten, Gildor looked at his lover. “We went on a walk through the valley to one of my favourite places yesterday. So, it seems only fair if you should decide what you would like to do today.” He held up a hand before Glorfindel could speak. “And because you like rules so much, I will give you a rule. Whatever it is you choose, it must be out of doors. Fresh air and sunlight are good for us both, along with healthful exercise.”

Glorfindel steepled his fingers, and pressed them to his lips. He had a sudden strong urge to lean in, move those fingers, and kiss his lover’s lush mouth, and the wave of desire which accompanied the impulse made him almost dizzy.

“Is there a good place to swim?” Glorfindel said, after a few long moments. “I would love to swim, I think. It is healthful, and most enjoyable, and the weather looks ideal, don’t you think?”

Gildor did not answer right away, lost as he was in the mental image of Glorfindel, marvelously naked and swimming in a tranquil lake. He startled when his lover took his hand, stroking it.

“Are you all right?” Glorfindel asked. “You were leagues away, I think.”

He could feel the heat in his cheeks. “I am sorry! I was lost in thought for a moment, but yes, swimming sounds like a lovely notion. Shall we go gather some towels, and maybe beg a picnic lunch from the kitchen?”

Gildor knew many pools which were large enough to swim in, all of them exposed, open to all. There would be others in those places, even on an ordinary day. While the sun shone, they would not find themselves alone. But there were other places…

So it was that they gathered their things, and Gildor was able to ignore the way Glorfindel tried to seduce him this time. He had something specific in mind. It was a secret place which few in Imladris knew about. He himself only knew of it because Elrond had showed it to him once.

Giddy, he almost pulled Glorfindel along, right into the cliffs where the largest of the waterfalls were. Glorfindel shouted at him to ask where they were headed, hardly able to make himself heard over the cacophony of water as it fell onto rocks and into small pools. Hoping against hope that his memory had been true, Gildor eventually led them to a shimmering curtain of falling water, whereupon he tightened his hand around Glorfindel’s and gave him a glance.

“Through there?” Glorfindel mouthed, and Gildor nodded. “Are you serious?”

Gildor took a short breath and then walked straight through, pulling Glorfindel along behind him. The curtain of water was merely that, and on the other side was a pool, shielded from the worst of the noise, deep and cool, sunlight shone through the curtains of water that would keep them hidden from prying eyes. It was even more beautiful than he remembered. Exotic wild flowers flourished here, in the continually humid warm air between the falls. Leafy plants grew in fissures on the rock that surrounded the pool, making it into a secret paradise.

Beside him, Glorfindel caught his breath, and Gildor squeezed his hand.

“What do you think, _meleth nín_? Will this do for a swim and a picnic lunch?” He nearly dropped his basket when Glorfindel pulled him into a tight hug.

“You are the most amazing, clever, surprising elf. This is magical, truly. It looks like someplace the Valar would come to bathe and swim.” Glorfindel looked around in awe.

He laughed in delight. “Then my little surprise is a success. I have walked almost every inch of Imladris by now, but even I would have missed this place had I not been shown the way. And now I have shown you. You are the first and only elf I have brought here.”

He found a spot to set down his basket, and then peeled off his tunic, damp from the quick trip through the waterfall. He hung it over a stout branch to dry, and looked over his shoulder at Glorfindel. “I thought you wanted to swim?”

All at once, he was in Glorfindel’s arms, and the tenderest of kisses was pressed to his lips. “I will never stop being enchanted by you, will I? You will always have something fantastic in wait for me, something to take my breath away, and remind me I am the luckiest elf alive. _Mîr nín_ , thank you.”

Gildor wrapped his arms around Glorfindel’s waist, his heart light as a feather. He had thought himself the lucky one, to have his lover want him so passionately, but he too had much to give. It was an unexpected thing, to be able to keep surprising Glorfindel, but he decided he liked it, a great deal. He also liked teasing his lover, so he looked up with a sweet smile. “You are very welcome, but if you truly want to thank me, you will get out of those clothes. I think I will find the view much improved.”

Glorfindel chuckled and let him go, stripping off his clothes quickly. He was unselfconscious, completely at ease with his own nudity. Yet though he must be aware of his own beauty, he did not play to that either.

“Is it deep enough to dive?” Glorfindel asked suddenly, breaking Gildor’s study of his body, making him look up from Glorfindel’s abdominal muscles.

“Oh,” he said, distracted, then nodded. “Yes. The pool conceals a deep cavern below. The last time I was here, I tried to find the bottom of it but I could not hold my breath for long enough.”

That seemed to be answer enough for Glorfindel, and he backed away slightly, taking a three or four step run up before diving into the water. Despite his bulk, he made a streamlined entry that barely disturbed the water. Only a little splash marked his passing as Gildor walked to the edge to look, dipping his toes in. The water was so very clear he could see his lover in the depths, shooting back up to the surface.

He did not have time to fill his eyes with the sight of his lover before he was laughing and cringing away from the droplets of water Glorfindel shook from his hair. So he missed Glorfindel swimming up to him, and the next thing he knew fingers were pulling at the waistband of his breeches.

“What are you waiting for?” Glorfindel teased. “Perhaps you are waiting for a water sprite to come and take advantage of you on the rocks. Is that it, _bain nín_?”

Gildor lifted his hips as Glorfindel pulled the last garment that covered him away, the warrior’s lips on his collarbone. “You are very tempting,” Glorfindel purred. “Fortunately, the water is cold enough. You are quite safe for now, _pîn edhel_.”

“I am?” Gildor queried, quite disappointed, and Glorfindel laughed.

“Yes. But you are insatiable,” he teased. “Race me to the other side,” he challenged, moving back so that Gildor could slip into the water.

“But I will not win!” Gildor said.

“Then you will have to pay a forfeit later,” Glorfindel said, smiling. Immediately he wondered what kind of forfeit Glorfindel had in mind, only to miss the start of the race. With a little laugh he launched himself from the side, trying to catch Glorfindel up.

Of course Gildor did not catch Glorfindel, but he found he did not care. He decided whatever forfeit Glorfindel had in mind would be delicious. Instead, he focused on enjoying the water, and the company.

They swam until they were both well tired, and they climbed out to relax on the bank, the sunlight warm where it shone through the waterfall. Gildor lay on his stomach, his chin resting on his forearms. “Did I win any of the races?” he asked, his eyes half closed. He was not ready to nap, but the sun was certainly lulling him into a wonderfully tranquil state, and if he looked too much at Glorfindel, his tranquillity would vanish in favour of ardour.

“Do you need to ask?” Glorfindel replied, laughter in his words. Gildor sighed as a strong finger traced its way down his spine. “You are an excellent swimmer, and very agile, but I’m afraid speed is not your strength.”

He ignored the urge to purr as Glorfindel’s finger travelled lower. “Whereas strength is your hallmark?” he teased. “I thought you said I was safe.”

Now Glorfindel did laugh aloud. “We are not in the water any longer, bain nín. I am thawing out nicely.” His finger slid even lower, and then Gildor felt the warmth of a strong hand cupping one buttock. “Such a perfect fit,” the warrior observed.

He knew Glorfindel was teasing him, but he really was so pleasantly tired. He stretched his body out deliberately, parting his legs slightly where he lay. “Make love to me,” he said on a sigh, not even opening his eyes.

He turned his head when Glorfindel guided him, and responded eagerly to the kiss until Glorfindel let him be again. “Take me,” he repeated the invitation, and perhaps he hadn’t meant to tease, but he heard Glorfindel’s slight groan of want, and it made him happy.

“I will,” he said. “Here, and now, but will you be able to stay quiet, _Dúlinnor nín_?”

Gildor frowned. “I do not know,” he began, but then Glorfindel continued.

“Others would hear your cries. And that would bring them to this special, secret place, would it not? Ah… perhaps…”

On tenterhooks now, Gildor opened his eyes lazily. “Perhaps, what?” he asked, and tried hard to avoid seeing the grin Glorfindel flashed at him as predatory, but it was difficult. He had that look again; like he was going to enjoy what happened next.

“Perhaps I should gag you,” Glorfindel suggested at last. Gildor felt his heart beating fast as he stared into Glorfindel’s eyes. To be deprived of voice, while Glorfindel took what he wanted, to feel that perfection of being claimed and unable to let it out. He almost moaned out loud at the thought!

“Maybe you should,” he said quietly, aware that Glorfindel was waiting for his consent.

Glorfindel held his gaze for a long moment, as if to make sure he was serious about his agreement. There was no way to avoid seeing the warrior’s regard as anything other than predatory now, and he felt a delicious icy shiver make its way along his spine. Without his voice, he would not be able to let Glorfindel know if it became overwhelming. But the rewards were much greater than the risks.

“And what of you?” he asked instead, reminding himself Glorfindel had earned his trust many times over already. “Will you be able to stifle your growls and groans?” He offered up a cheeky grin.

“I will just have to muffle myself in the hollow between your shoulder and your neck, or in your pretty hair, won’t I?” Glorfindel laughed, as if sensing victory.

He reached up and wrapped a golden curl around one finger. “Well, then, you’d better get on with it, because I do want you to take me.” He arched his hips to press his buttocks against Glorfindel, enjoying the chance to be wanton without worrying who would see, and perhaps judge. He felt the weight of his cock as it brushed against the grass, even that slight friction sending fresh shivers through him.

To his surprise, Glorfindel did not play, but took his arm to lead him into a seated position on the grass, then took hold of his tunic, his eyes glinting. Gildor felt a little nervous then, and it must have showed, because Glorfindel stroked his arm in silence until the shivers ceased.

“Open your mouth,” he ordered, and Gildor swallowed before complying. Glorfindel shook his head. “Wider. As wide as you can for me.”

Having no option but to trust, Gildor did so, half expecting Glorfindel to laugh at him, but he didn’t. Instead, he began to push folds of the tunic into his mouth, pressing his tongue down and filling all of the space until Gildor had to breathe through his nose. He felt an instant of panic then, and it must have showed in his widened eyes, because Glorfindel stopped, pulling him close and embracing him until he had calmed enough to continue.

“If you cannot breathe at any point,” Glorfindel said, “I want you to hit the ground with your fist. Can you do that?”

Gildor nodded slowly, and then Glorfindel continued. When his mouth was as full as it was going to get, Glorfindel twisted the arms of the tunic and used them to tie the makeshift gag in place behind his head.

“Try to make a sound now,” Glorfindel said seriously. Gildor felt slightly ridiculous, but followed the instruction, only to discover that no sound travelled from beyond his throat besides a quiet humming. Again he felt a flash of panic, and he mentally thanked Glorfindel for having him discover this now, rather than in the throes of passion. He allowed Glorfindel to embrace him again, but he calmed quickly this time.

Glorfindel kissed his forehead as he released him, then took a small bottle of oil from the basket they had brought with them. Gildor breathed quickly through his nose, so hard and wanting, he wished Glorfindel would touch him.

“Now lie down and submit to me,” he said, and Gildor tried to groan as he did it. Glorfindel did not touch him, and he suspected it was on purpose, for he’d noted his lover’s quick glance at his erection. He would come with Glorfindel inside him, from that alone, he knew it. And Glorfindel knew it too.

The sunlight backlit Glorfindel as he wet his fingers with the oil, and created a golden nimbus which dazzled him for a moment. His lover looked as mysterious and unknowable as one of the Valar, and then the warrior moved, and became Glorfindel once more. Gildor felt his heart beat a little faster, though, and he concentrated on keeping his breathing deep and even.

Silent himself, he began to listen to the sounds around him, the soft chirp of insects, and the birdsong which seemed to fill all of the valley. He could hear the waterfall, and beneath its rumble, the drip of water from the rocks above. Leaves soughed in the breeze, but above it all was the sound of his own heartbeat, slowing gradually until he was at ease once more.

Glorfindel’s finger felt thicker than usual, or perhaps it was this heightened state he was in, trading off one sense against the others. He had never quite realized how his cries were so integral to his participation, his way of letting Glorfindel know how much he enjoyed the touches and uses his lover bestowed. He would need to let his body speak for him, and his eyes.

Accordingly, he lifted his knees and opened his legs as far as he could, offering Glorfindel unrestricted access, or as much as he could do on his own. He gripped the ground, resisting the urge to touch his needy cock, knowing Glorfindel would see to his pleasure soon enough.

A warm palm came to rest upon him just there - a warning of sorts before Glorfindel took hold of his cock in a firm grip. Gildor tried to cry out, but could not, settling for the sudden jolt upwards his body gave instead. Then Glorfindel’s hand was moving, and the sound of the oil against his flesh was louder than his own stoppered moans and whimpers.

Gildor dragged in breath through his nose, only to find that his nostrils closed at the force of it, and he thrashed a little, wondering if he would need to alert Glorfindel before they’d even begun. But his lover was watching him closely, and his lover’s touch withdrew to allow Gildor to calm as necessary.

“We will go slow,” Glorfindel noted, his voice a quiet, deep rumble. Gildor did not open his eyes, and his breathing calmed enough so that the faint, dizzy feeling eased. Then he felt the pointed tip of Glorfindel’s tongue on his temple. The tears from his eyes had fallen there, and he reached out as the warrior licked the tears away from either side of his face. He buried his hands in Glorfindel’s hair desperately.

There was no voice given him to protest when Glorfindel moved away, only his longing, outstretched hands before he felt the warrior’s fingers inside him again. This time, he did not touch Gildor’s cock, and he concentrated on pulling in breath after breath, quicker and quicker, in stops and starts that Glorfindel could surely hear, for he fine tuned his caress, making it easier to bear.

At last, the moment came, and Glorfindel leaned over him, pressed at the very spot, so hard and wanting. Gildor gazed up helplessly. “Can you take it?” Glorfindel asked, and Gildor was suddenly sure he could not. A deep shudder ran through him, and his eyes were wide with something that was almost fear… yet he nodded, taking as deep a breath as he could before Glorfindel pushed, his own body’s resistance was such that the first thrust actually moved him back. Gildor was sure he screamed in abandon, yet all that escaped him was a gentle whining sound. He breathed again, then Glorfindel moved, and between them they set up a slow pattern that worked until Gildor felt his climax rushing forth.

He very nearly lost control over his breathing then, his back arching off the grass. Glorfindel pressed him back down by dint of his greater weight, and he closed his eyes when he felt the first sticky drops smear across his belly. He tried to swallow, but there was no moisture to soothe his throat. All he could do was remember to breathe in, slow and careful, his nostrils flaring with the effort.

Perhaps it was the minor oxygen deprivation caused by the gag, but his release was more intense than usual. Hot tears slid from the corners of his eyes and he closed them tightly, waiting to feel Glorfindel stutter above him. He hoped, fervently, Glorfindel would not hold back. He was not sure if he would manage much longer with the gag, and yet he could not bring himself to make a fist, and hit the ground.

As he came back to himself, as the pleasure which overcame him eased, he could feel the vibrations of his muffled outcries. He simply could not help verbalizing, he decided, and he would not have managed to remain silent without the gag. It was hard, though, harder than anything Glorfindel had asked of him yet.

He dared to open his eyes, and looked up at his lover. Glorfindel’s face was flushed with exertion, and with pleasure, and he watched Gildor like he wanted to devour him. Gildor shivered a bit under the intense scrutiny, feeling curiously exposed, and he turned his head away, his breaths ragged snorts and sharp exhalations.

He drew in another laboured breath before Glorfindel’s next movement. The flats of his palms rested against Glorfindel’s chest, and he could feel the crinkling of hair beneath his hands. He was shaking now, continually, the sensations too overwhelming to contain, and yet he could not fully let them out.

“I need to go faster,” Glorfindel said, his voice strained, and Gildor nodded in silence, his face still turned away. With permission given, Glorfindel took him without restraint while Gildor tried desperately to hold on. He was shaking because he was sobbing, he realised, but they weren’t unhappy tears. Glorfindel did things to him that no one else ever had. Even if he had played these kinds of games before, he doubted any would have drawn the response from him that Glorfindel did.

It wasn’t anything physical. It wasn't Glorfindel’s beauty, his strength, or even his size. It was something deeper. Each of these experiences Glorfindel led him to were so absolute. He wanted to share how they made him feel, how they shattered and rebuilt him, how the trust in him yearned for more, because Glorfindel was kind, and generous, and so careful with him despite it all. He felt his body speak for him, squeezing and coaxing, not in panic or fear, but in love, and it occurred to him that for all he had known other lovers, their release had never been as important as his own. With Glorfindel it was, and something in him echoed the warmth when he felt it happen, Glorfindel coming to rest within him, only taking a second before reaching to untie the gag so that he could breathe freely.

He buried his face in the warmth of Glorfindel’s shoulder, welcome saliva flooding his mouth. His cheeks were wet, and he knew he was sobbing, but it was joy, and release, and gratitude, none of which he could articulate, not yet. But he could manage a few words.

“Thank you, _meleth nín_ ,” he whispered, and his voice sounded strange to his ears.

The weight of his lover was welcome, and he felt cherished in Glorfindel’s arms. It had been a challenge, but he had managed, with Glorfindel’s care and help, and all he wanted now was to cuddle, and relax. He listened to the strong beat of Glorfindel’s heart, and it did not take long before his heart matched the rhythm, further lulling him into a light doze.

The flowers were fragrant, and the sun warm where Glorfindel did not cover him. It was idyllic, until he heard his stomach grumble. He frowned into the broad chest and nuzzled closer, doing his best to pretend he was not hungry. “Don’t move,” he grumbled, his arms around his lover. “I’m asleep.”

Glorfindel chuckled, but rested with him until his stomach grumbled too, and then it was decided that they would eat. They dawdled back to the house and a week or two passed without any incident more alarming than Gildor taking advantage of his lover’s restraints in the mornings.

 

To be continued...

 

**Authors' Note:** Thank you all for reading – we hope you enjoyed it, and a very merry, very happy Christmas to all our readers! May this year bring love and peace to all of us, wherever in the world we are. <333

 

**Translations:**

_melethron_ – lover

_bain nín_ – my beauty

_meleth (nín)_ – (my) love

_Mîr nín –_ my treasure

_pîn edhel –_ little elf 

_Dúlinnor nín –_ my Nightingale


	15. Chapter Fifteen

** Authors' Note: ** Well, we hope you all had a great Christmas, and that you're now lost in that  oddly  pleasant no man's land between Christmas and New Year, permanently tipsy, blissfully unaware of how much you've overindulged,  where your only concerns are why there isn't anything good on tv, how long you can realistically keep that leftover turkey/trifle/sprouts in the fridge before throwing it out, and just when exactly you need to hit the shop for more milk and bread.

In the meantime, here is the next chapter for your perusal... enjoy!

 

**Chapter Fifteen**

In truth, Gildor began to wonder if the restraints were really necessary. After all, there had only been a couple of dreams, and the marks on him had faded quickly until they were nothing but a memory. He did not say anything, however, and Glorfindel insisted on being tied to the bed each night. It was with a start of happiness that Gildor realised his warrior enjoyed the new format of their mornings too much to let them go, and they both fell deeper into each other.

Then, one morning out of the blue, as Gildor awoke he knew that something was wrong. It was a sense, rather than anything that alerted him. Perhaps he could feel the tension, because as he sat up in bed beside Glorfindel, it was obvious he was dreaming, and had been for some time.

Gildor gasped when he saw that Glorfindel had rubbed his wrists raw on the rope that held him down. He flinched when Glorfindel’s eyes opened and looked upon him without recognition. His lover was still somewhere else entirely. Gildor reached out to touch, and found Glorfindel’s skin clammy and cold, yet he reacted as if he’d been touched by fire, arching up from the bed and screaming so shrilly it sent a shiver up his spine.

Wasting no more time, Gildor got up and pulled on a robe. He went to the door, his eyes on Glorfindel all the while, who appeared to have calmed, though his breathing was still ragged. Gildor called a passing servant.

“Fetch Lord Elrond here,” he said, gravely. “Glorfindel has been taken ill in the night. It is urgent.”

He watched as the young ellon hurried off, and sank down into a chair to watch and wait for Elrond to come and observe this strangeness for himself. It still took too long, and Glorfindel noticed him with his knees drawn up, calling him an ‘imposter’ and a ‘figment’ and swearing so vehemently Gildor wept. He could not help it at all.

Elrond did not bother to knock, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him. He looked at Glorfindel, trussed to the bed, and then at Gildor, miserable in the chair. “Do I need to ask whose idea this was?”

Gildor swallowed a sob, his cheeks wet. “He thought it was safer if we secured him at night. He was afraid he would hurt me again.” His hand crept up to his throat without any conscious thought. “He taught me the proper knots, because mine unravelled as soon as he tugged.”

He knew he was babbling, and he heard the fear and grief in his own voice as clearly as he knew Elrond would. “He was fine. He has been fine. But he still wouldn’t let us forget to restrain him, and when I woke from my reverie this morning, he was like this.”

He watched Elrond’s expression as the Lord of Imladris took in the sight of the blond warrior, his wrists raw and bleeding where the skin was chafed away entirely. Glorfindel’s complexion was ghastly, and his glorious golden curls were sweat-soaked and dull. It was his eyes, though, which revealed how deeply he was sunk into the dream.

“Do you try to tempt me now with visions of Eärendil grown? Is it not enough you take the shape of the one dearest to me? Will you torment me now with all which is at stake if I fall?” Glorfindel strained anew at his bonds. “I will not fall. I will not surrender. Drop your masks, vile creature, and face me on the field of battle!”

Gildor bit back a fresh sob, but Elrond stood his ground, his voice ringing with power. “Is this what I can expect from the Lord of the House of the Golden Flower? Wake, Glorfindel of Gondolin, now Glorfindel of Rivendell. Wake, and return to us.”

Glorfindel thrashed on the bed, but his eyes closed, his eyes jerking and twitching behind his eyelids. Only mortals slept like this, dreamed like this, and Gildor was so glad he’d called for Elrond. The Lord of Imladris was by the side of the bed kneeling as Glorfindel came around, waking up in truth. He nodded sharply to the ropes, and Gildor hurried to untie them. As soon as Glorfindel’s arms were free, he embraced Elrond, pulling him close while he sobbed.

“Do you remember your dreams?” Elrond questioned directly, trying to hold Glorfindel at arm’s length. The warrior nodded. “Then tell them to me now, while they are still fresh.”

“I do not have the heart,” Glorfindel said, his voice broken, but Elrond became stern then.

“You will tell _me_ , Glorfindel. Now.”

“I dreamed of the Balrog,” Glorfindel said, looking desperately into Elrond’s eyes, as if he still did not quite believe the Lord of Imladris was before him. “It pulled my hair. That’s how I fell. But it burned, and in the burning it showed me things. Such terrible things!” Now he grasped Elrond’s arms, as if imparting some dreadful truth.

“They burn,” he said. “On the surface, yes, they burn the body. But their real damage is done from the inside out. They burn you from the inside. It showed me so many things. The battle lost, the companions of my house - of all the houses - dead and burnt to cinder by dragons. I saw Gondolin fallen, the refugees pursued and slaughtered. I saw the future where Melkor won his war. Such a darkness.”

Elrond sighed, and rested his forehead against Glorfindel’s in sympathy. “It showed me things I wanted, which I could never have. One of them was being here, with Gildor by my side.” He drew in a great shuddering breath. “Another, was the sight of you. I thought you were your father.”

With a heavy sigh, Elrond backed away and Gildor took his place as he examined the injuries Glorfindel had sustained from the ropes while he slept. “I shall have to study this,” he said, troubled. “I have never seen it's like in elves.” His study over, he seated himself by the bed, watching as Glorfindel held Gildor close, greedily, as if he would never let go. For his part, Gildor felt almost the same. Now that he had Glorfindel back, he never wanted to lose him again, not even for a moment. He kissed his lover’s hair and stroked his back, until Elrond reminded them of his presence.

“In the meantime, if the two of you insist on this binding at night, I have some elven rope which you can use. It will not allow Glorfindel to hurt himself, however he may struggle.”

Gildor felt his eyes open wide, understanding the implication, and he actually turned around to look at Elrond. He could not help imagining the lovely Celebrían bound by such ropes. Elrond stared back at him levelly, deliberately bland. Gildor was amazed. Was everyone up to these games? Had he been the only innocent in Imladris all this time? But then Glorfindel shifted, and his attention was back on his lover in the blink of an eye.

“ _Meleth nín_ , your wrists. We need to clean those, and put some ointment on them. Perhaps we should bandage them as well?” He looked over his shoulder at Elrond, the elflord’s expression still inscrutably blank. Elrond gestured at a small basket, and Gildor seized on the change of mental subject eagerly. He simply could not bring himself to think of Elrond, so skilled a healer, as someone who would be trussing his wife to the bedposts.

“Bring me water, and I will see to Glorfindel’s wrists.” Elrond sounded exactly normal. “It does not need to be heated. The herbs I have will work even in cool water.”

He nodded, and hurried to bring over the pitcher of water from the side table, along with the basin it sat in. “Will this do?” he asked.

Elrond had seated himself on the edge of the bed. “Pour a bit of water in the basin, and I will wash the wounds.”

It was only the work of minutes before Elrond had Glorfindel’s wrists cleaned, dressed, and wrapped in immaculate linen. The warrior had been silent throughout, his head bowed to hide his eyes. Gildor’s heart ached when he saw the slump in those strong shoulders. He hurried to climb onto the bed, close to Glorfindel.

“Keep those as dry as you can when you bathe,” Elrond advised. “The ointment will resist water, but if you find the bandages are too wet, replace them. I will leave more ointment and linen, and I will come back later with the elven rope.”

He felt his cheeks warming, but he met Elrond’s eyes. “My thanks, Lord Elrond. It will be appreciated.”

“You are aware you will not be able to use it until Glorfindel’s wrists heal?” It was as much a command as a question, and he gulped and nodded hastily. “Very well.” Elrond left, his step as silent as any ranger.

When they were alone, Gildor sat beside his lover anxiously, at a loss as for what to do. He stroked a hand down Glorfindel’s back, noting the shudder. Any thoughts he might have about lifting the warrior’s spirit were out of the question at the moment. Glorfindel was not even well enough for a trip to the baths, though he must be cold now that he had awoken, the sweat drying on his skin.

“I am not dreaming,” Glorfindel said, hugging his knees, resting his chin on them. “But I hate for you to see me like this.” To Gildor’s astonishment, Glorfindel sobbed. “The shadow of it remains, like a veil cast over my eyes.”

Gildor thought about what Elrond had said, how Glorfindel’s wrists would need to heal, and they would have to face their nights alone for a while. He knew that, but now? “Would you rather I gave you some peace?” he asked, saddened, but then Glorfindel turned and took hold of his hand.

“No, please,” he said, and the look in his eyes almost broke Gildor’s heart. “If you are here with me, I know your fate. It is the others…” His voice trailed off into nothing, and he stared forward blankly again.

“The others?” Gildor prodded gently.

“Of course,” Glorfindel said, as if it made perfect sense. Gildor frowned, trying to understand. “Some of the visions I received at the time of my demise were true.” He brought Gildor’s hand to his lips and kissed it. “You are here, just as I envisaged you. And Eärendil, he did escape, at least from the city, if not from his fate.”

“I do not know which of the things I saw were real, and which were false. There were others who escaped with you that day. Do you know what became of them?”

Gildor found himself thinking of it. “Some of them I know still. Some have sailed since…” He pondered for a moment, then something clicked in his mind, and he turned Glorfindel’s face to look at him, feeling a little hope.

“You said before that if you knew what the dreams wanted from you… perhaps this is it. Perhaps you are dreaming because you need to know the end of the story from that day.”

At Gildor’s words, Glorfindel seemed to brighten like the morning sun through mist, and he smiled tentatively. His personality was such that hope was woven into his very _fëa_ , and Gildor saw it strengthening now. “Do you truly think so?” he asked, and Gildor smiled.

“I do,” Gildor said firmly. He settled himself more comfortably on the bed, holding Glorfindel’s hands across his folded legs. “Let me tell you what I know, then, of our journey.” He began to recall each elf he had travelled with, naming them for his lover, and recounting what they had done since the escape, and where they were, if he knew.

There were moments of laughter, small things, but each one building on the other to heal them both. There were moments of sorrow, too, for elves who had fallen, and for those who had sailed. Gildor even shared his cherished hope for forgiveness, his dream that he would be allowed to sail West to Aman, to Valinor. When Glorfindel nodded in solemn agreement, he nearly wept with joy.

Even as they talked, Gildor managed to avoid the topic which lay heavy between them. In truth, the very thought of spending a night without the comfort of Glorfindel beside him was wrenching. He sought for another distraction, until he was interrupted by a tapping at the door. He pulled his robe close as he opened it, surprised to find one of the servants with a heavily laden tray full of breakfast.

“My Lord sent this, Master Gildor,” the servant said, and let Gildor take the tray. He closed the door behind himself as he left.

“Look, _aníra nín_. Do you think you can manage to eat a bit, or have some tea?” He looked at the tray in bemused delight. It appeared the kitchens had sent Glorfindel-worthy portions of everything, and enough tea to float an elfling’s toy ship.

Whatever Glorfindel’s state of mind, his body could not be called into question, and he accepted the tray with a rumble of satisfaction, immediately going about the business of eating. Watching him, Gildor thought it seemed more like refuelling than anything. He took a small plate for himself of warm bread and honey, then poured the tea.

“We should make a list of those who escaped,” Gildor said as he poured the milk. “That way it will be easier to recall anyone we may have missed.” Glorfindel nodded with his mouth full, trying to swallow, and then, uncharacteristically, he paused in demolishing the food on his plate.

“I don’t know how you do it,” he said.

Gildor smiled, his hands faltering. “Do what?”

“Raise me up out of the darkness of those dreams.” He lifted his head. “I do not like it when you see me that way, though.”

He’d said the same thing before, earlier, when he’d been much more melancholy, and Gildor did not need Glorfindel’s feelings explained to him.

“You are not diminished by it Glorfindel _nín_ ,” he said carefully, stirring Glorfindel’s cup. “After the time we’ve spent together, don’t you know what your strength does to me?”

Glorfindel was silent for a moment, then he chuckled in a decidedly suggestive way. Gildor thrust a full cup into his waiting hands. “Drink your tea,” he said, smiling, before his lover could get any ideas. Because obviously, they should both eat first. Glorfindel especially; to keep up his strength.

It did Gildor good to see Glorfindel’s mood lighten, and he watched the warrior tuck in with renewed appetite. He was quite content with his light fare, and his tea, but then again, he did not exert himself in quite the same manner as Glorfindel.

“So, after we have eaten, perhaps we should retire to the baths,” he said. “And then maybe a nice constitutional through the gardens? Or perhaps we could go to the river, and pretend to fish?” He snuck a look at Glorfindel from under his lashes as he made a show of spreading his bread with more honey.

It was hard not to dwell on the fact of night time, though. As much as he wanted to spend the night with Glorfindel, he knew his lover would object, and use fear for his safety as the reason. It was an argument hard to refute, but he was sure there would be no new dreams for a night or two. There had been longer gaps than that between dreams as it was, and he was willing to take the chance.

He knew he was being selfish, but he could not seem to stop. If he was not there, his fear was that Glorfindel would harm himself, in an effort to thwart whatever enemy coloured his dreams. He knew Glorfindel was capable of self sacrifice. Had he not faced a balrog to protect the rest of them, to save Lord Elrond’s family? How much more would he dare to protect Gildor, if he felt Gildor was threatened?

But these thoughts were dark, and he wanted to lift Glorfindel’s gloom, so he teased, and hoped it would make his lover laugh, or tease him in return.

To his surprise, Glorfindel gave him a frank look, up and down, making Gildor fear he had got honey on his nose. “What is it?” he asked.

“Would you indulge me?” Glorfindel asked, quite serious, and Gildor nodded.

“Of course!” he said brightly, and waited. And waited. Glorfindel sighed, as if he was reluctant to ask for it, whatever it was.

“I miss my work,” he said at last, “and if you can indeed ‘hold your own’ as you told me once, I’d love to duel with you.”

 _Oh-oh._ Gildor gulped the hot tea he was sipping, imagining it. In truth it had been a while since his skills in that direction had been required, and if he was completely honest he hadn’t been practising - at all. But then, maybe one of the weapons masters had a light blade he could use, or knives. He’d always done better with those.

“I was thinking we could take a couple of horses,” Glorfindel continued, completely oblivious to Gildor’s reaction. “Ride some distance, then fight. I might even let you win one,” he teased, turning to give Gildor a happy smile. He faltered then. “What is it?”

“Oh, nothing! You go on,” Gildor said, waving his hand about in near panic. “Leave me to think about duelling with the greatest warrior in Imladris, possibly in our age!” At his words, Glorfindel’s face fell, and Gildor sighed, then smiled.

“Of course I will,” he reassured Glorfindel. “Just… go easy on me?” he pleaded.

Glorfindel brightened at once. “Of course I will go easy on you, _mîr nín_. I don’t expect you to be battle hardened. But it would be nice to spar a little. We can go and find a weapon you are comfortable using.”

“After our bath, of course,” Gildor said hastily, taking another scalding sip and blinking away tears. “But you finish eating, and I’ll get your robe, and find us clothing for after the bath. I do think I have something suitable for fighting.”

“Wonderful,” Glorfindel said. “But I think I’m quite full, so perhaps we’ll sort out clothing after the bath.” He grimaced at his wrists. “You might need to wash my hair as well as your own, though. I should try to keep these dry, as Elrond said.”

The reminder of Glorfindel’s injury made Gildor swallow hard. “I do have more dry linen, so don’t worry,” he said. “And I don’t mind washing your hair. I enjoy it, actually.”

There were only a few elves in the baths, and Glorfindel did his best to cooperate, although he managed to bump into Gildor once or twice in a most suggestive way. Gildor managed not to squeak, and he was washing Glorfindel’s golden curls when he remembered what Glorfindel had told Elrond. The balrog had pulled him to his death by those bright tresses. His fingers faltered for a moment in their work, but he collected himself and began to massage Glorfindel’s scalp firmly, to wash away the sweat of the nightmare. He rinsed the warrior’s hair thoroughly, trying not to play too much or tug, but he was acutely aware of Glorfindel’s gaze as he washed his own hair.

 

To be continued...

 

**Authors' Note:** Thank you for reading, we hope you enjoyed it, and this  time allow us to wish you a happy new year! See you next week. Why not leave us a comment?


	16. Chapter Sixteen

**Chapter Sixteen**

When they exited the baths and went back to Glorfindel’s room to pick out clothing, Gildor expected that they would get up to some other activities, so he was nonplussed when his lover merely walked to his wardrobe to pick out some riding gear and a little light leather armour.

Still clad in his robe, Gildor insinuated himself between Glorfindel and the wardrobe contents. “Are we in a rush?” he asked, reaching up to slide his arms around Glorfindel’s neck and kissing him on the lips. He felt a rush of pleasure when Glorfindel responded to his advance.

“Tease,” Glorfindel whispered into his ear as he pulled Gildor close.

“Oh, I don’t think I am teasing,” he replied, interspersing his words with little presses of his lips to Glorfindel’s ear. The heat between them was building. Glorfindel was hard against his hip, no less demanding than Gildor’s own. “I want you.”

To his surprise, Glorfindel managed to resist his clear invitation, gently pushing him away. When he saw the look on Gildor’s face, he smiled. “You, _bain nín_ , will be all the sweeter when I take you on the field of victory. My own prisoner of war.”

The words were dark, despite Glorfindel’s smile, and Gildor suddenly felt light-headed. Glorfindel intended to roleplay this… he heard himself utter a little moan of sheer desire as the warrior came closer, crowding him.

“Be sure when you defend, just what you are defending. I will have you,” he promised, a kind of heady sensuality in his tone Gildor had never heard. It must be the promise of the fight, he realised, dazed.

“Oh, I will not even be able to lift a sword, wicked elf,” he complained.

Glorfindel’s laugh held the same lusty promise as his words. “We will have to find you a suitable weapon you _can_ lift, then. Not every battle is won by the largest blade. Do you have any leather armour, or do we need to get some for you?”

Gildor huffed a breath. “I do have light armour, for when I travel to map an area. It is not always entirely safe, and it helps to be protected. But I’m not foolish enough to think it makes me a warrior, because I can put on a leather corslet.” He gave Glorfindel a peevish look. “I will fetch it from my room.”

“Don’t be upset, _melethron_.” Glorfindel caught his chin and made him look up. “I have no doubt you will fight, and fight hard. But I do intend to win, and claim you. I want to see your face as you are vanquished by me.”

And all at once, he could not be angry with the warrior. Beyond the sensual words, Glorfindel was all but glowing with a healthy animal energy. He was a force of nature, Gildor realised, and he could not hope to contain so vital an elf. Glorfindel needed the outlet of a good fight, as much as he needed air to breathe, and food to sustain him.

“Do not count me vanquished yet,” he said, and he did not know how he did it, but he wriggled free and ran for the door, laughing at Glorfindel’s look of surprise.

Glorfindel did not follow him, and Gildor was strangely glad. Instead, he awaited as Gildor went to prepare himself for the day ahead. When he was in his own room, he selected some of his worn travelling garments, and realised it had been too long since he left Imladris.

His excitement actually grew as he dressed, and while his own lightweight armour was probably not as good as Glorfindel’s, it had served him well on many journeys, and it felt good on him again. If he did not know better, he would swear he was readying himself for a trip.

In a long trunk beneath his bed, Gildor studied his meagre stash of weapons. These were the things he took with him; utilitarian but he knew how to use them. His journeying hadn’t been entirely without incident, after all. And before, even he had played his part in the war… he shook his head to rid himself of those memories. Since then, Elrond had founded Imladris, and Gildor had worked hard to ensure the success of the haven, along with many others.

He would not need the bow, which was a mercy since he had not been taking care of it, and it would probably need to be restrung, the wood worked with oil to make it supple again. But he lifted out his sword in its scabbard, testing the weight of it in both of his hands before he drew it out.

When he stood and raised it in his right hand, he was pleased to find its weight suited him still, despite his lack of practice. Perhaps Glorfindel would get more of a fight than he envisaged - even if he did win in the end. Gildor did not delude himself on that score.

Since he would not wear his bow, Gildor strapped two fighting knives to his back, to aid him if he was deprived of his sword. Glorfindel had set no rules, after all. He took a little time to sharpen the blades of all three weapons. Why, he could not say; it was not as though he intended to injure Glorfindel! But he realised Glorfindel treasured these things, and he would be happy to see Gildor treated his own weapons with respect. Perhaps.

He was surprised Glorfindel had not come looking for him, eager to set off. He shivered a little as he tried to imagine what thoughts occupied his lover’s mind while he waited. That was a dangerous train of thought, and he banished it quickly. If he wandered there, he would not have the nerve to go on, so weak-kneed would he be.

He did not knock on Glorfindel’s door, but merely opened it and slipped inside. “Here I am, and hopefully not too long about it. Shall we see about horses? It’s been awhile since I rode out.” It was hard not to giggle at the look on Glorfindel’s face, but he managed.

“You certainly look ready for a fight,” the warrior said, after a lengthy pause. “Is that your weapon? May I see it?” He held out his hand, and Gildor placed the sword, in its scabbard, on his palm.

Glorfindel drew the sword, and he watched as the warrior marked the sharpness of the edge. Now he was glad he had taken the time to sharpen it.

“Show me.” His lover handed back the sword, and Gildor took it, with a quick intake of breath as he sought his centre. It had been quite a while since he had done this, but Glorfindel was waiting. He swung the sword, executing a few parries and attacks from long-ago exercises, the rhythm returning after only a few swings. The brief demonstration would tell Glorfindel nothing, but it felt good to know he remembered his training.

When he had done, he sheathed his sword and buckled it to his hip, and he did not miss the look Glorfindel gave him, of love and admiration. “Let us see about horses,” he said again, and this time Glorfindel nodded, following him as he left the room.

They were not long in the stables. Glorfindel, of course, had his favourite enormous white stallion, while Gildor chose a black, in deference to the game they were playing. The stallion he chose was not as large, but he was full of energy and vital.

They set off at a canter. Gildor had braided his hair into a thick plait draped to the front of his shoulder so that it did not catch on the twin blades he wore, and so the rushing wind as they rode served to refresh and revive him from the events of the morning. He urged his horse on to follow Glorfindel’s path, trusting his lover to lead them to a place they could fight, but would not be interrupted.

When he drew up alongside, Gildor looked to Glorfindel, and the sight took his breath. Glorfindel had left his hair loose and flowing, and while he was not quite dressed for battle, he looked as if he meant business. Gildor felt his jaw actually drop. Glorfindel! He was going to fight Glorfindel? As if sensing his scrutiny, the warrior turned his head, and his smile was devastating.

“Keep up!” he said, then urged his horse into a gallop, taking the lead again. Gildor grinned and leaned low, urging his horse to follow. Though they slowed again before they reached their destination, when they arrived, Glorfindel took the time to care for his horse, Gildor following suit.

The horses were left to graze in a nearby field, the elves knowing their mounts would not stray. Gildor half expected Glorfindel to bind back his hair somehow, but the warrior did not, and it made him all that much more imposing, and not a little intimidating. It truly was like seeing one of the Valar, come to do battle.

“You ride well,” Glorfindel commented, his manner casual. He paced around the area he had chosen for their match, checking for loose stones and branches. In a true fight, he would not have done so, but it was supposed to be practice, and Gildor knew his lover was being cautious for his sake. It was simultaneously flattering and aggravating.

“I’ve ridden frequently.” Gildor loosed his sword in the scabbard, so he would be able to draw it smoothly. He did not pace with Glorfindel, but contented himself with turning, never to leave his back to the warrior. “It’s been a while since my last trip, but I do ride for pleasure, sometimes with Lord Elrond himself, and sometimes with others.”

“Mm,” Glorfindel responded, his eyes flicking up to watch Gildor before he continued his search of the ground. Finally satisfied, he drew himself up to his full height, and Gildor could not help but gasp. If he had been the balrog, he would have died of fright at the prospect of fighting such an elflord as Glorfindel, he decided.

“Draw your sword,” Glorfindel commanded, and he obeyed, unable to resist the note of command in his lover’s voice. “Prepare yourself for battle.”

Gildor tried to centre himself, but then Glorfindel drew his sword, and he gulped in nervous fear, wondering how many minutes it would last. Or perhaps it would be seconds?

“One piece of advice I will give you,” Glorfindel said, as he brought his sword up before his face as if to study it. “Do not fight the opponent in your mind. Fight the one in front of you.”

Gildor nodded quickly; it was good advice, and he found himself slightly reassured at Glorfindel’s tone. He was speaking as he might on the training fields, like a teacher. He tried to push aside all of the legends of the elf before him, and instead concentrate on what he was doing. Only… his palms were sweating slightly, and as he watched, Glorfindel made some kind of practised turn with his sword, making it travel fast around his hands, the sun glinting on the steel.

Quite suddenly, Gildor was aware Glorfindel was showing off, and he rolled his eyes, meaning that he almost missed the warrior’s first forward lunge, and had to fade back quickly, but thankfully his muscle memory held, and he raised his sword, Glorfindel’s weapon clashing harmlessly against his own.

“Do not allow yourself to become distracted,” Glorfindel told him. “However flashy your opponent may be.”

After that, Glorfindel fell silent as they circled each other. In these moments, Glorfindel did not look like the lover he knew. It was as if he were someone entirely different, and then he understood. Glorfindel took his own advice, and he did not see his lover before him, but Gildor himself, armed with a sword, ready to fight.

He nodded, once, and set himself to the task ahead. It was what he had done since the fateful day when his steps led away from Valinor, and he was practised at it. And he had one advantage he would not have had against another opponent.

He watched Glorfindel closely, but not only the warrior’s blade, He watched the fingers, and how they held the blade, and the eyes, for the slightest narrowing which would herald action. He knew Glorfindel’s small tells, the tiny hints no one could help but have. He had seen Glorfindel practice before, with his guards, and while he had not stayed and watched intently, he could remember the way the warrior moved.

Glorfindel had no such knowledge of him, however. Aside from the joking pretence in front of the others one night, he had never lifted a weapon in Glorfindel’s presence. All the warrior knew was that he had fought when he had to, when they had fled Gondolin’s fall, and when he had been travelling to make his maps.

He could not make the first move. That much he knew, and so he continued to circle. And then he saw Glorfindel’s eyes narrow just the barest bit, and he flung his sword up to parry a swift strike. With the memory of the flurries of blows he had seen Glorfindel use in training his guards, he managed to deflect Glorfindel’s blade two more times, before he felt the flat of the warrior’s blade slap his thigh. It stung, and he staggered from the force of it, but kept his footing.

The next flurry of blows spun his sword away altogether, and Gildor ducked as he threw himself to the side. He rolled and came up reaching for his fighting knives, freeing them with a desperate twist of his wrists. Glorfindel’s dark chuckle coaxed a growl from him as he steeled himself to go in close.

Gildor attacked in what he hoped was a confusing flurry of movement, and Glorfindel was forced into a defensive position. If Glorfindel was given the chance to use his sword, the fight would be over. Sensing the advantage, Gildor kept up the pressure, and though he never scored a hit, he came close enough several times that it encouraged him to continue. It wasn’t until he began to tire that he realised Glorfindel had goaded him into it, and he lunged with one knife, forcing Glorfindel to deflect, planning a swipe with the other.

He did not count on the strength of Glorfindel’s arm, and instead of merely deflecting this time, Glorfindel pushed his arm back so that Gildor was forced to use his other blade to make a defensive ‘v’ to stop Glorfindel’s sword from coming down upon him.

His arms were exhausted, and Glorfindel’s strength was too much. Gildor fell to his knees, his arms beginning to shake with the strain. “Concede,” Glorfindel said, giving him a way out.

“I concede,” Gildor said immediately, since there was no way out of his predicament else. Suddenly the weight was gone, and Gildor lowered his arms in relief where he knelt on the ground. Before he could gather his wits, the hilt of his own sword was held out in front of his eyes.

“Good. Again.”

Gildor sighed, still shaky, and replaced his knives, taking his sword and getting to his feet.

“Do you know why you lost?” asked Glorfindel, and Gildor felt anger coiling in him again. Just in time, he recognised the trick for what it was, and calmed himself, taking in a deep breath as he put some distance between himself and the fearsome warrior.

“Yes, thank you,” he said politely, and Glorfindel grinned.

He took another breath and readied himself, knowing he was going to be defeated much more quickly this time. His sword still did not feel heavy, and for that he was grateful. He watched Glorfindel warily, circling slowly, until the warrior lunged forward, and his own sword rose to parry before he could even think. This time, he felt the vibration of the blow down his arm and up to his shoulder.

How did anyone hope to prevail against Glorfindel? He could not imagine even the mightiest orc standing up to such punishing blows. Really, it seemed like Glorfindel was everywhere all at once, no matter which way he spun around. He knew it was not simply a matter of his being inept.

He tried dropping low, and swinging his sword in the vicinity of Glorfindel’s knees. It was not a pretty move, nor particularly honourable, but he had come to terms with his own limitations a long time ago, and he was more than happy to use underhanded tricks to stay alive. That was when it struck him he was indeed fighting like his life was at stake. Perhaps that was why he had lasted this long, in this round.

Unfortunately for Gildor, the realisation led to his suddenly thinking about each move, and because he was thinking, he did not let his muscles simply move in the proper sequence. His sword went flying again, and as he reached over his shoulders for his knives, a slap of Glorfindel’s sword across his knuckles had him hissing. His legs were swept out from under him in the next breath, and the tip of Glorfindel’s sword was nestled in the hollow of his collarbone.

“Concede.” Glorfindel sounded far too amused, and Gildor could not help the growl which rose in his throat.

“Concede,” Glorfindel insisted, and he sighed, rubbing his stinging knuckles.

“I concede,” he said, and sat up when Glorfindel’s sword was withdrawn. “How many more times will we do this?”

As if in answer to his question, Glorfindel fell into a crouch by his side and Gildor turned his head. All at once there was a large hand curled around the back of his neck, pulling him close. Gildor tilted his head for the kiss, his lips parted. He reached up, his fingers sliding into his lover’s hair, and even that felt like too much against his bruised knuckles.

His exhaustion was not so severe that he could not respond to the kiss though, and he made a sound of approval as Glorfindel deepened it, vaguely disappointed when Glorfindel pulled away after a minute or two. The warrior licked his lips.

“Mmm,” he hummed, as if considering. “You need at least one more,” he declared, and stood up again, kicking Gildor’s sword close to him in the dirt.

Gildor did not move. He had a sudden moment of precognition, because he realised what Glorfindel intended. Himself, so fatigued that his muscles trembled, useless as Glorfindel took him out in the open, right here in their arena. There was such a conflict in him between denial, and a longing to see it come to pass. He wondered if he would even be able to stand.

“Pick up your sword,” Glorfindel instructed, and Gildor reached for it automatically. He did manage to pull himself to his feet and grip the hilt properly, though the hit he had taken on his thigh earlier had developed into an aching bruise, and his knuckles protested at being forced to bend.

He refused to admit, even to himself, how much it cost to stand and wrap his hand around his sword. He could feel the muscles of his thigh trembling with fatigue. But he did his best to keep that from his expression, and he narrowed his eyes as he moved back into the starting position.

He did not circle this time. Instead, he lunged first, hoping for the advantage of surprise, and for a brief moment, it worked. Apparently, Glorfindel had not considered he might take the first opportunity to attack, and he was almost able to score a strike on the powerful warrior. But Glorfindel was far too seasoned a warrior to let surprise throw him off, and Gildor found himself retreating, moving backward as Glorfindel pressed the attack now.

It was with a wry acknowledgement of its inevitability that Gildor watched his sword sail away, across the grass. This time, however, he managed to get his knives out, and he blocked Glorfindel’s sword. He twisted his blades to the side as quickly as he could, pushing away the strike, and stumbling backward, out of range, as quickly as he could. His lungs burned with the effort of breathing, and he could feel the sweat trickle along his spine, under the thin linen singlet he wore under his leather armour.

He got in a second block, his knives crossed to form a ‘v’ again, and once again, he was driven to his knees by the sheer strength of Glorfindel’s arm. He growled as he did his best to resist, but his arms trembled, and his thigh threatened to give way.

“Concede.”

He was quite sure he had never heard such a hateful word in all his life, and he looked up at Glorfindel, his brows knit in a frown. “No.”

At last, it occurred to him that Glorfindel’s advice at the beginning of this session had been all but useless. The enemy before him was more formidable than he could ever imagine. Better he had been fighting the Glorfindel in his mind. It would not have hurt so much to lose to him.

Above him, the warrior was no longer smiling, and he almost cringed as Glorfindel reached out with his free hand. But to his surprise, that hand only caressed the side of his face, a thumb brushing softly over his bottom lip.

“Let it go, _meleth nín_ ,” he said tenderly, and Gildor relaxed all at once, lowering his knives in defeat. The bitterness in him had fled at the proof of Glorfindel’s warmth, and he could not resent. Hadn’t they come out here to ease Glorfindel’s need for a spar? Hadn’t that been his motivation all along?

“I suppose this was not very much of a workout for you,” he said, letting his knives fall to the ground. Now that he had released them, he could feel his knuckles stinging anew, although his thigh ached less without his weight on it. “But I hope it was better than nothing.”

Glorfindel continued to run his thumb over his lower lip, the caress so gentle it could only soothe. “Do not underestimate yourself. You are quite fierce, you know. You need some work on your technique, but I can see how you were able to travel about, making your maps, without coming to harm.”

He could feel the heat rise in his cheeks. “I know I’m not a fighter, not truly. But I know the pointy end from the pommel.”

And now Glorfindel chuckled, that rich, warm laugh he loved to hear. “That you do, _meleth nín_.” He lifted Gildor’s face a bit, his hand under Gildor’s chin. “Do you think you can ride?”

“I thought I was going to be your prize.” He could not believe he had blurted that out, like some eager ellon with a taste for tawdry melodrama. “I mean, well, you said…” It was no use. His voice trailed off into silence, and he looked down at his lap, rubbing his knuckles without thinking.

“I see.” Still Glorfindel’s voice was kind, and tender. “I had been thinking we could ride home, and have a nice, soothing bath first, but if you insist, my fierce little mapmaker, I would be very happy to tumble you right here.”

Gildor looked up, and again he knew he was blushing. “Well, if it’s all the same to you,” he said. “I’d really love to go back and bathe first.” He took Glorfindel’s proffered hand and was pulled to his feet, then into his lover’s arms.

“This time you may,” Glorfindel told him. “But when you are practised enough to get my blood up, there will be no waiting.”

Gildor rather thought that if he ever got that good, he would no longer feel so insignificant beside Glorfindel when they fought, and he’d want it just as much. He smiled to himself privately as he collected his weapons, while Glorfindel called back their horses.

 

To be continued...

 

**Authors' Note:** Thank you for reading – we hope you enjoyed their little sparring session. Please do leave a comment on your way out, and see you next week! :)


	17. Chapter Seventeen

**Authors' Note:** This is not SFW in any sense. Not even in the parking lot at lunchtime.

 

**Chapter Seventeen**

The ride back was much more sedate, for which Gildor was grateful, and the long relaxing soak Glorfindel insisted upon when they arrived back at the last homely house was so wonderful he was almost drowsing by the time they made it to Glorfindel’s large bed in the late afternoon. They had several hours until dinner.

“You owe me a day of orienteering now,” Gildor said lightly, when they were laid beside each other, just before he could be swept away by Glorfindel’s wandering hands.

“Is that so?”

Gildor nodded. “I will take you to a place you do not know, and leave you with just an unmarked map and a compass. It will be your job to find me.” Actually, he thought as he spoke, perhaps he should take more care of his own wandering hands. But Glorfindel was too beautiful! The warrior was resting on his back as Gildor pressed close to him, covering his chest in little kisses.

“And what will be my prize for finding you then?” Glorfindel asked, his hand combing through Gildor’s hair, now loosened from the braid of earlier.

“Why, then I will take you somewhere private,” Gildor said, and Glorfindel hummed a little, obviously imagining it. “We will get comfortable,” he said, deliberately, and Glorfindel rolled over to trap him. Gildor found he did not mind that at all. “And then…” he said, his voice trailing off as he felt how hard Glorfindel was already.

“Then?”

“Then I will show you how to draw a proper map.” Glorfindel actually giggled. It was so incongruous to see the bulky warrior giggling, Gildor laughed right along with him, then surprised himself with a yawn.

“Are you so tired, _meleth nín_?” Glorfindel looked down at him, and he sighed a little.

“I am not that tired, or at least, I do not believe I am. I would rather make sure I’m properly tired, you see, and then nap a little before dinner.” He turned his head, into Glorfindel’s warm palm, feeling his own hair caught in the strong fingers.

“I see.” The giggle was back in Glorfindel’s voice. “You do know you have become quite insatiable, _bain nín_. I am not complaining, you will notice. It is quite…” The warrior’s hand moved to cover his own arousal. “Stimulating,” he finished, as Gildor tried to press up into the touch.

“Will you claim your prize?” A delicious flutter ran through him. He was already at Glorfindel’s mercy, pinned as he was beneath the warrior. “You did vanquish me, after all.”

Glorfindel’s eyes held such desire he was nearly faint. Once again, he was confronted with the image of himself, as seen by his lover, and it was overwhelming. He never thought of himself as worthy of such regard, but he could not deny how Glorfindel treated him.

“So I did, and if you keep looking at me like that, you will have your wish, _mîr nín_. I will not be able to hold back.” Glorfindel’s voice was thick with lust, and he shivered, delighted to have provoked such a reaction. The tender endearments along with the heated looks from his lover intoxicated him more than any wine. He parted his legs, in unspoken acquiescence.

Deliberately, he stretched out his body as much as he could beneath Glorfindel’s. “Mmm…” he sighed. “I concede.”

Glorfindel groaned. “If you continue like this, you will have no nap before dinner, and I shall have to carry you there!” Gildor watched, a little wide-eyed, as his lover reached for the oil.

“I do not think you will be able to last that long,” he said, unable to help feeling a little breathless at Glorfindel’s words.

“Perhaps not,” Glorfindel admitted, then smiled wickedly. “But I can have you more than once, especially if I tie you up beforehand.” Gildor moaned as Glorfindel slid a finger against him, almost teasing. “After all,” he continued, “I did best you three times.”

Though Glorfindel’s words aroused him more than he could say, Gildor stole the bottle of oil from him and used some of the contents on the warrior’s cock, loving to feel it in the palm of his hand. He laughed a little. “Even you could not manage that before dinner,” he said. “I do not believe you!”

“And now you doubt me!” Glorfindel declared, sliding that finger in so that Gildor gasped beneath him. He thrust lightly into Gildor’s hand. “If I can, you owe me another spar tomorrow. If I fail, I shall submit to your orienteering.”

“ _Ai_! I will not refuse such a wager!” Gildor managed. “You are so wicked, but I love you.”

“Then let us see how wicked I can be.” Glorfindel’s finger moved in and out, thick and sturdy, and he wanted to cry out, to press down on the welcome invader. “You will come to learn I do not like to lose.”

“Does anyone?” he gasped, his fingers closing around Glorfindel’s cock. The warrior laughed and eased out of his hand.

“Oh, _hérince_ , it will not be that easy. Do you think you will finish me with your hand, and cheat your way to a win?” Glorfindel looked down at him, eyes dancing with merriment. “I will look forward to sparring with you again tomorrow.”

“I will be one of your guards at this rate.” He pretended to grumble, and then broke off with a soft wail when his lover crooked a finger deep within. “Wicked elf,” he admonished, as soon as he was able to manage words again. “Three times, you must have me, for the three times you won.”

“And now who is the wicked one?” Glorfindel’s laughter was music to him. “I’m not sure if you are trying to make it impossible for me to win, or if you are that greedy for me. Let us find out, shall we?”

Gildor submitted to the bindings without complaint, allowing his lover to slowly tie and test each one, certain that Glorfindel could not manage it. Not really. Except that he displayed such perfect confidence Gildor actually began to feel uneasy.

“Of course,” Glorfindel said conversationally, when Gildor was quite helpless. “You’re aware that if I manage to perform three times, you will have no choice but to match me.”

Gildor gulped. He had thought of that, and now he wondered if it would come to pass. Glorfindel’s grin was so wicked Gildor felt a little faint. “Unless you think that you might outlast me,” he teased. They both knew that was out of the question. Gildor groaned in dismay.

“Oh, don’t lose heart, _bain nín_ ,” Glorfindel said, testing him with a finger. “We will make the first one nice and quick, hmm?”

Gildor nodded, biting his lip as Glorfindel replaced his finger with his cock, taking it slow to start, giving Gildor time to adjust. Again, he was bound up by his wrists, and his knees, which left his body completely open to anything Glorfindel wished.

This time, compared to the other times between them, there was a difference in his lover. Glorfindel was not selfish - not quite - but he was definitely working relentlessly towards orgasm. Gildor could not contain his cries as the warrior took him this way. Truly, he felt like a prize or a reward. He was being used, and the difference was vast. To his utter mortification, he came very quickly, because he liked the feeling, and he could not hide it.

Glorfindel even used that, continuing to fuck him through the contractions of his climax until he felt the warrior find release in him too, pulling back quickly and away. He expected a chance to rest, so he was made suddenly breathless when Glorfindel almost immediately began to explore his body, teasing with hands and teeth, with tender kisses and nips. He shivered and moaned under the assault.

He writhed as much as his bonds allowed, arching off the bed whenever Glorfindel would find a particularly sensitive spot. The warrior was mapping his body, as if he were not already familiar territory, as if Glorfindel did not know each place on him to induce cries of need. He shivered as Glorfindel ran his nails along the tender inside of his thigh, but stopped well short of touching his cock.

Inconceivable as it was, he could feel himself responding, the first tingles of desire sparking through his belly. He was barely filling out -- it was too soon for that -- but his balls were growing just that much tighter, and he felt himself clench as a small trickle of Glorfindel’s seed slipped out.

Glorfindel chuckled, and it made him gasp when he looked down, to see Glorfindel’s hand cup his sac. “You are full of surprises, are you not? And here I thought I might have to work a little harder to rouse you.” The warrior’s strong fingers were gentle as his balls were rolled in one warm palm. “I think it would be easy to spend an eternity exploring you, and all your secrets.”

“Such a wicked elf,” he managed, biting his lip when one finger moved, to stroke below his sac. He was almost afraid, for a moment, because he was sure it would be too much for Glorfindel to touch him there, like that, so soon. But when the finger moved away, he felt a curious disappointment, and he writhed in frustration. “You have me at odds with myself,” he protested. “I do not know if I want you or want to beg for mercy.”

The admission earned another chuckle. “You are well past any hope of mercy, _mîr nín_. I have no intention of relinquishing my pretty prize, no matter how he cries out for parole.” Glorfindel sat back, idly stroking his cock to its full thickness. “You are far too beautiful like this, spread open for my enjoyment, and flushed with your own need.”

He felt another trickle escape as his body clenched in anticipation, his eyes riveted to the movement of Glorfindel’s hand.

“Oh, I know you want it,” Glorfindel said, then chuckled, moving forward to cover Gildor again. “But you know it will take longer this time, don’t you?”

Gildor bit his lip and nodded, twisting his hands, only to find he really was quite helpless. The realisation made his blood burn, and he sighed despite himself. He closed his eyes, expecting nothing else but the feeling of Glorfindel breaching him again, so the tender kiss caught him entirely by surprise.

It was sweet and loving, encouraging, unhurried, one of Glorfindel’s hands resting on the side of his cheek. The other… Gildor realised that his lover was still touching himself, and as Glorfindel drew back, he opened his eyes slightly.

“I don’t think you will last the same way,” Glorfindel noted, staring into his eyes. Gildor opened his mouth to protest, but then he felt it, the beginning of that slow push forward. Glorfindel felt huge as he passed that first ring of muscle, and Gildor felt the burn of it, hissing in discomfort.

“It will ease,” Glorfindel promised, but did not stop, feeding himself inside, inch by inch. Here, drawing back slightly, holding himself steady with his fingers. Gildor could feel those fingers on the stretched skin around his entrance. Gildor heard himself whimper.

“Almost there,” Glorfindel said, his voice deep in Gildor’s ear as he leaned his whole body forward. “You are doing well.”

But it felt forced - too soon - until the first couple of movements from Glorfindel settled something, and he was as hard as before as he moved in and out, those thrusts longer and deeper. Gildor let go of a tremulous moan.

“Save your voice, _Dúlinnor_ ,” Glorfindel advised, and that just made it more difficult to stay quiet! He truly was wicked, and yet despite that, and even though the pain did not really lessen, Gildor loved it. Glorfindel’s possession of his body was something he could not seem to reject, and soon he was lost in it, his own cock hard and leaking against his belly.

Despite Glorfindel’s instruction, he could not help small whimpers from escaping him. He was entirely vulnerable, spread out beneath his lover, and he could not help wondering why it felt so right. He simply could not deny his lover anything.

He was hot, his skin already slick, and he turned his head from side to side to try and distract himself. His hips could not seem to stay quite still, and he alternated between pressing down into the mattress as hard as he could, and then yearning upward when Glorfindel withdrew. He was completely wanton, and he did not care one bit if all the guards in Imladris knew what was happening here, in Glorfindel’s room. Let them know, he thought. He would not regret a moment of this.

As he writhed, he realised he should have been sore, after the exertion with Glorfindel, but he was not nearly as sore as he would have expected. He felt, if anything, stronger, although he would never be the equal of his lover in battle. No one could hope to be Glorfindel’s equal. But given time, he decided, he might even win. Once.

His efforts at distracting himself were useless, though. He could feel the pressure building, the need to let himself go and spill. He was already beginning to clench around Glorfindel, each time a brief reminder of how very large his lover was, and how very full he was. The instant of pain was part of the pleasure, and he would be a fool to deny how he loved the challenge it represented. How many other lovers had been able to bring him to such pinnacles?

“I cannot,” he whispered, and he felt hot tears leak from the corners of his eyes as the need built to unbearable levels. “Let me, please…” He felt Glorfindel’s fingers around him, at the base, and he whined as his lover pressed hard, pushing the moment back. “Wicked, wicked,” he hissed, and heard Glorfindel’s chuckle.

“Oh, no, _bain nín_ ,” Glorfindel said. “I don’t want you relaxing. I want you nice and hot and tight around me. Desperate, even.” His words caused Gildor’s body to give a delicate flutter, and Glorfindel groaned in appreciation. “See. Just like that.”

“But, I… are you even close? Tell me you are!” Gildor pleaded. In the back of his mind he was aware that if Glorfindel could summon his flesh, he would face this another time before dinner. How far away was dinner? It seemed like the only thing that might save him now.

“Here, I will help you,” Glorfindel said, his fingers teasing one of Gildor’s nipples, causing his body to spasm slightly. “Very nice,” he commented, his other hand still preventing Gildor’s release.

He began to put effort into pleasing Glorfindel with his body, enduring the warrior’s praise with whispered pleas for mercy. A timeless period passed, and it seemed that all Gildor knew any longer was the steady, constant in and out of Glorfindel’s cock. And then at last, he felt the telltale signs of his lover’s imminent climax, and he cried out in joy as Glorfindel finally released him, his own end claiming him quickly, and when he came around it was over.

And yet, when he blinked and looked for Glorfindel, it was only to see him cleaning himself with a cloth and a bowl of water before attempting to coax his cock to harden again, and Gildor shook his head. “No more, please! I concede,” he said, desperate, really struggling now as Glorfindel watched him. Seemingly, his response stoked something in his lover - he could see it happening. “I will spar with you!” Gildor vowed. “But let me be, at least for a while. I cannot bear it again. Not so soon.”

“You are so quick to surrender? I thought you would have more fight in you.” Glorfindel watched him, expressionless, and once again, he was reminded of a great, golden cat as it toyed with a mouse just before devouring it. He was as defenceless as that mouse, or so it seemed. “I’m sure we can find other ways to amuse ourselves while you recover sufficiently.”

He swallowed as Glorfindel straddled his chest, and brushed a finger over his lips. “Let us see if you can persuade me, _bain nín_ , with your talented mouth.”

He felt a rush of relief. This he could do, and he parted his lips to permit Glorfindel to enter, his cock not even barely tumescent yet. It made it easier to accommodate the warrior’s girth, and his tongue curled around the bulbous head lovingly. He felt Glorfindel lift his head, adding a pillow to improve the angle, and he purred thanks without releasing his lover.

Glorfindel dug strong fingers into his hair, holding his head in place as his arousal grew, and Gildor’s mouth opened wider to encompass his lover. The warrior’s hips rocked as he thrust, and Gildor mewled as he felt Glorfindel’s cock touch the back of his throat. He did not know how his mouth could possibly open so wide, but it did, and he swallowed hastily as Glorfindel withdrew.

“You are so very good at this,” Glorfindel purred, and he felt a rush of pride. “I think I am ready for the final instalment of my prize.” He withdrew slowly from Gildor’s mouth, and moved back between his legs.

Gildor wanted to beg for Glorfindel to come back, but he did not. The warrior tested him with a finger first, and that one digit felt like a cock in him. Gildor squeezed his eyes closed. His body felt so well-used. Fortunately, Glorfindel applied more oil, and the soreness eased, at least a little.

Still, when his lover penetrated him again, Gildor cried out. This one sounded deep, pain mixed with pleasure, and Gildor instinctively struggled. Glorfindel stopped still.

“ _Bain nín_ ,” he said, his voice soothing. “It is because you have forgotten to relax that you feel it so keenly.” Gildor opened his eyes, and was met with Glorfindel’s calm blue gaze. How did he know? He could feel his body contracting, trying to push Glorfindel out, but the warrior held firm.

“Do you trust me?” Glorfindel asked, and Gildor nodded at once. “Have I ever asked you to do something you truly could not bear?”

Gildor was conflicted. “No, but -” A finger covered his lips before he could speak of the game they were playing.

“Open up to me,” Glorfindel urged, and Gildor could not help that it worked. He felt his body easing already. Glorfindel swept his hands up the inside of Gildor’s thighs from the inside of his knees, and it made him feel like spreading out wider to encourage more of that touch. “That is right, _bain nín_ ,” Glorfindel praised. “Be easy for me because I care for you, because I love you, because I want you more than any other elf I have ever known.”

Oh, that was so wicked and perfect, and as Gildor stared into Glorfindel’s eyes, he also realised it was true. His heart felt strengthened, while his body answered the warrior’s call, even if Gildor was still partly thinking about Glorfindel’s inevitable victory.

His body did relax, and the pleasure soon cancelled out the pain as Glorfindel began to move in him. The pain really was gone, and Gildor did not know how, but perhaps Glorfindel did. He seemed to know more about all of these things, seemed to know how to tame Gildor’s body, heart and soul, even when his mind protested.

It did not even seem important any longer to know Glorfindel would win their bet. Part of him wanted that. Part of him wanted Glorfindel to take him to spar again, with the full knowledge he would be taken on the spot next time. Knowing he would be well loved even as he was taken, knowing no matter how high Glorfindel’s blood was, he would be loved, that was enough.

He moved with Glorfindel, as much as he could move, and his body responded without need for thought. Every bit of him seemed sensitised, his senses heightened so he could smell the arousal which smeared itself across his belly, and taste Glorfindel on his lips. He felt the silk of Glorfindel’s curls as they brushed his heated skin, and he watched the nuances of pleasure dance deep within his lover’s eyes.

Finding release seemed a distant thing. He was not sure he was even capable, not yet, not so soon, but it did not matter. All that mattered was the way Glorfindel moved, in and out, filling him and drawing him out at the very same time. He arched and moaned, not bothering to press down into the mattress any longer. There was no escape, and he had no desire to look for it even if the possibility existed. His world had shrunk to the boundaries of Glorfindel’s bed.

“Say it for me,” Glorfindel urged, and he looked up to see love reflected back at him. He licked his lips as he tried to remember what it was he was supposed to say. When he recalled, he brightened despite exhaustion.

“Glorfindel,” he whispered, and then again, louder. “Glorfindel.”

His lover’s smile was so dazzling, Gildor closed his eyes as he repeated it again. “I told you to save your voice,” Glorfindel noted, and he was aware that the warrior had changed position slightly.

When he looked again, Glorfindel was sat back slightly on his heels, knees pressed into the mattress. One strong hand slid beneath the small of Gildor’s back to hold him in the correct position so that Glorfindel could rock forward and back, watching.

With his other hand, he got a firm hold of Gildor’s cock and pumped it slowly, in time with his rocking. Gildor had never known such intense pleasure, and he wailed and keened, his lower legs kicking out, but he had no leverage. All he could do was watch as Glorfindel completely undid him, watch himself, his stomach muscles rippling with approaching climax.

“That’s is it,” Glorfindel encouraged, not looking up, focused on what was happening below. “Come on,” he almost growled. “Take me with you, _melethron_.”

Gildor’s entire body seized and became still. “Oh, don’t stop!” he begged, and with Glorfindel’s next movement it was there, and Gildor was lost in the pulse of it, only distantly aware of how hard and deep Glorfindel was in him suddenly, and then giving it up too, coming inside him - again. Gildor had never felt so utterly owned.

“Glorfindel,” he whispered, once more, and felt like he might faint. There was nothing left in him he hadn’t given.

“Gildor.” Glorfindel’s voice trembled just a little, nearly breaking over the word. “My Gildor, my precious lover.”

He felt Glorfindel’s weight, not all of it, but enough to anchor him and keep him from coming apart. His lips were salty with tears when he licked them, and he could feel his heart beating like a captive wren in his chest, frantic and tremulous. He yearned to touch his lover, but his wrists were still bound firmly.

“Such a gift you’ve given me,” Glorfindel murmured, and the weight eased somewhat. He keened, but a finger on his lips stilled him. “Let me release you, _bain nín_.”

He felt his wrists freed, and then each knee, and he let his feet fall flat on either side of Glorfindel. He stroked Glorfindel’s face, fingers gliding over the planes and angles he knew as well as his own face. He could find no words, nothing to express what he felt, and so he was silent.

Glorfindel settled back down again, his weight not as oppressive as it should have been. He welcomed the feeling, and wrapped his arms around the warrior to pull him even closer. Empty as he was, he craved the touch as confirmation he was still there, still real. Valar knew, he might have floated away otherwise.

He was just drifting off when Glorfindel spoke, and he was not sure how long it had been that they lay there together. “We will need to get clean before dinner,” Glorfindel murmured, one hand stroking Gildor’s hair affectionately.

Gildor groaned, and his voice was rough-sounding. He didn’t open his eyes. “There are hours before dinner,” he said tiredly. “Don’t you want some time to enjoy your victory over me?”

“We used up two and half of those already,” Glorfindel said. Gildor’s eyes snapped open at that. Two and a half hours?! He sat up, dislodging Glorfindel’s hands, only then realising Glorfindel had moved at some point to lie beside him on the bed. His body ached everywhere, and he looked down at himself with a grimace.

His stomach and chest were covered with his own drying essence, and he realised with dismay that his inner thighs were sticky and wet. Quite suddenly, he knew it would be worse when he stood up. “Ai, Valar,” he said in dismay. “I am filthy.” He looked over at Glorfindel, and couldn’t help noting he’d got off rather lightly in comparison.

“Yes,” Glorfindel agreed amiably. “And you smell of sex.” He sat up and nuzzled Gildor’s neck, prompting him to voice a little squeak of alarm. Glorfindel chuckled.

“Oh, don’t worry, _bain nín_ ,” he said, with a great deal of amusement. “You are quite safe from me for at least a few hours. I’m empty.”

Empty. At the word, Gildor realised something else. “I am famished. I have to go to dinner! How long do we have?”

Glorfindel chuckled again, nibbling delicately on Gildor’s ear tip. “I expect we have an hour, perhaps an hour and a half. Do you think you can walk?”

“I am not sure I even know my name,” he admitted. “But Let me try. I would rather get to the baths under my own power. I am sure I’m the talk of the guard for enough as it is, without being carried about the place like a fainting elleth.” He shot Glorfindel a peevish look. “I suppose you will want to spar tomorrow, won’t you?”

Now Glorfindel laughed, helping him to slide cautiously off the bed. “Perhaps that is a discussion best left for after dinner. How do you feel?”

He stood, his knees shaky. “I feel as if I were run over by a pack of wargs, and I smell worse than a dwarven tavern.” His stomach growled on cue. “And I am as hungry as if I’d fasted for a solid moon. I think I understand why you eat as you do.”

Glorfindel looked taken aback, and it was all he could do not to laugh at his lover’s expression. “What do you mean? I eat no differently than any other here.”

“No, that is quite true.” HIs eyes twinkled as he sighed, and staggered over to the wardrobe to find something to put in. He was so grubby, he could not bear the thought of any of his robes touching him.

“Well, then?” Glorfindel demanded. He found an older robe, slightly faded, and offered it to Gildor, and then took another robe for after the bath. It was the sort of unconscious yet tender thing Glorfindel did, and he smiled sweetly at his lover, relishing the moment before he spoke again.

“You just eat for two, don’t you?”

Glorfindel’s bluster in response made him laugh, but there was nothing truly bad-natured in his lover, and Gildor found himself glad of it, because he needed Glorfindel’s strong arm to lean upon as they walked.

It wasn’t the sex, he told himself firmly, even though his body ached absolutely everywhere, and he was covered in bodily fluids. Rather it was his thigh that still ached from the hit Glorfindel had scored against him earlier. He did not suppose himself injured, merely in need of rest, and yet that didn’t ease his mortification when they passed a couple of guards in the corridor.

Thankfully, Glorfindel did not seem minded to stop and chat, and they made it to the baths without further incident. Gildor reflected that they seemed to spend an awful lot of time in the baths, but at least they had the warm waters to themselves. Gildor was not certain he possessed the nerve to display the results of their lovemaking if they had found themselves with an audience for this.

He stripped off the robe quickly and eased into the water with a sigh. But to be clean required more than simply relaxing in the water, and dinner was almost upon them. Gildor set to work, feeling more weary than he could ever remember, directing little glares and sighs of consternation at Glorfindel all the while, who seemed highly amused by it all.

By the time he had rid his skin of it all, there was only time to almost crawl out of the bath and dry off before dressing in the clothes he’d brought. Glorfindel too. Gildor sat down on the bench, carefully, and bent over with his head between his knees. He felt Glorfindel’s loving hands pressing between his shoulder blades, kneading at his sore muscles, and he groaned.

“Do not ply me with wine tonight, _meleth_ , else I am liable to fall asleep at the table,” he warned. It had been the longest day of this past century, he was sure. To his surprise Glorfindel agreed quickly, and Gildor looked up, suspicious, but saw only loving sympathy in Glorfindel’s eyes. He yawned and stood up just as the bell sounded.

 

To be continued...

 

**Authors' Note:** Thank you for reading, we hope you had fun! Why not leave a kudos or comment as encouragement? See you next week. :)


	18. Chapter Eighteen

**Chapter Eighteen**

Dinner was a blur of dishes and plates, and while he did not manage to match Glorfindel’s appetite, he came close, eating much more than usual before stumbling tiredly back to Glorfindel’s bed to sleep. In his weariness, he forgot about everything but rest, and he drifted off immediately in Glorfindel’s embrace, sleeping solidly until the morning.

Morning’s light brought him out of reverie, and he stirred cautiously, sure he was going to find himself a mass of aches and pains. He turned his head, intending to bury it in the warmth of Glorfindel’s shoulder, but all he found was cool linen over a plump goose down pillow.

His immediate reaction was alarm, fearing Glorfindel had suffered another nightmare, and he opened his eyes as he sat up. It took a moment to register his surroundings. He was in his own bed, in his own room, and he was alone. The next moment reminded him how foolish sudden movement could be, especially after one had indulged in swordplay and its inevitable aftermath, when the opponent was Glorfindel.

“ _Ai, Ilúvatar_ ,” he groaned, his knees raised and his head dropping into his hands. He searched his memory of the previous night. He remembered going in to dinner, and eating, nearly as much as Glorfindel, if he was recalling things properly. He felt his cheeks grow warm. He remembered leaving with Glorfindel, who had indeed been merciful, and not filled his wine glass over and over. And he was quite certain he had fallen asleep, comfortably naked and wrapped in the safety of Glorfindel’s arms.

“Oh, he did not!” He lifted his head and looked around, but his clothing from dinner was nowhere in evidence. He ignored the protest from his thigh as he slid to the edge of the bed, his vivid imagination painting a picture of Glorfindel stalking through the halls, carrying his naked and unconscious form in those strong arms. It was not out of the question. He had been teasing Glorfindel, and his lover liked to win.

He found a robe and pulled it on. Glorfindel had indeed won, since he had intended to spend the night with the warrior, no matter what. If Glorfindel’s wrists prevented restraint, he was willing to take his chances. Apparently, Glorfindel had managed to get the last word, taking advantage of his exhaustion to carry him through the halls like a sack of potatoes. He decided he was indignant, and he fastened his robe before hurrying down the halls to Glorfindel’s room, heedless of his bare feet and tousled hair.

Gildor threw open the door to Glorfindel’s room without knocking, a word of accusation on his lips as he let it slam behind him, trying to keep in mind that he was annoyed at having his choices made for him.

“You…!” he managed before words failed him. Glorfindel was not quite asleep, but was dozing lightly on his side, facing the sunlight, his bulging arms wrapped around a couple of pillows. At the interruption, he opened his eyes and let the pillows go, turning over onto his back in a leisurely fashion. The morning sun always showed Glorfindel off, and Gildor was struck momentarily speechless.

“Thank the Valar you’re awake,” Glorfindel said with a ready smile. “I thought I might have to resort to reading!” He made a suggestive little sound that was sexier than it had any right to be. “Come here, to me,” he suggested, and Gildor felt his legs carrying him that way. It wasn’t as if he was going to admonish Glorfindel from the door, anyway.

Gildor threw the pillows aside, only then realising what they were meant to represent, and crawled to sit astride Glorfindel, shaking his head. He made a point to grab his lover’s wrists and press them down into the bed when Glorfindel would have touched him, perhaps held him close. “ _You_ put me to bed like a naughty elfling,” he accused at last, aghast.

The warrior only leaned up, capturing Gildor’s lips with his own. With an effort of will, Gildor twisted his head away. “What do you have to say for yourself?” he demanded.

“Good morning, _meleth nín_ ,” Glorfindel said, clearly happy. It was impossible to stand against one of Glorfindel’s good moods. Gildor felt his lips twitching upwards helplessly.

“I am quite serious,” he argued, but he was definitely grinning now. Glorfindel merely laughed, breaking free of Gildor’s grip easily and pulling him close.

“All night I dreamed of you coming here this morning,” Glorfindel said, interspersing his words with tender little kisses, nuzzling at Gildor’s neck. “Yes, I put you to bed. I tucked you in. Do you have any idea how you look in the moonlight?” Glorfindel groaned in want, pushing Gildor down his body slightly so that he could feel the warrior’s erection.

Gildor remained there, poised, in one single shining moment where he just had time to think that Glorfindel looked delectable in the sunlight before something very familiar happened to him; a sudden upset of his equilibrium that made him gasp, then he was looking up at Glorfindel instead. He sighed, deciding perhaps he might surrender… just for now.

“Good morning, Glorfindel,” he said, relenting.

“It has certainly gotten much better,” Glorfindel replied, smug. He could not help but laugh.

“I see you aren’t forsaking the morning routine.” He reached up to touch Glorfindel’s face, cherishing the sight of his lover, and more pleased than he would admit to have learned no nightmares had plagued Glorfindel’s reverie. “So, you must tell me how I look in the moonlight, since I obviously have no idea at all.”

“Only because I’m pleased to have you back where you belong,” Glorfindel countered, pressing his hips down to let him feel the heavy weight of his lover’s cock. “And before you blush and demur, I did wrap you in a warm blanket before I carried you to your bed. I really did not want anyone else seeing you like that, beautiful and innocent in my arms. You are mine, after all, and I am not one to share.”

He felt a lovely shiver of delight at the admission. If he was perfectly honest with himself, he relished Glorfindel’s occasional need to assert himself, to make sure everyone else knew he was taken. Valar knew he had eyes for no one but Glorfindel.

“I took you into your room, and pulled down the bedclothes so I could place you on the bed, and the moonlight was streaming in through the window just as I took away the blanket I’d used. Your skin was turned silver in the light, and your hair shone as though it were scattered through with stars. I do not think I have ever seen such beauty, not even in Valinor.” Glorfindel’s eyes were fixed on him, and he could not look away. “If I could trust myself, I would not have left you, but the thought of being lost in a dark dream, of laying hands on you in fear and anger? I could not bear it, _melethron_. And so I left you, tucked into your chaste bed, and dreamed of you like this, in the sunlight, in my bed.”

He could not speak for a long moment, unable to do more than caress the beloved face above him. The simple honesty of his lover’s words washed away anything but the love he felt for Glorfindel. “Are all warriors such poets at heart? I think Lord Elrond’s bards would all put away their instruments in surrender if they heard you.”

Glorfindel smiled. “I am no performer,” he declared. “If my words please you, then I am glad. But they are only for you.”

Gildor caught his breath as his lover rubbed up against him, dipping his head to drag his lips over Gildor’s ear. “Now will you give me what I dreamed?” Glorfindel asked.

“Again?” Gildor teased, though he felt as if he were floating on Glorfindel’s love. “After yesterday?” To his surprise, Glorfindel only chucked sensually.

“You want it just as much,” he said, moving his hips in such a way that Gildor moaned. “Do you think I don’t feel the evidence of your desire pressing against my thigh?”

Blushing, Gildor wriggled in Glorfindel’s grip. “Well, yes,” he admitted, “but I was so well used yesterday. And usually when we wake up together I can…” he trailed off, biting his lip when he saw the look Glorfindel gave him: amused and molten all at the same time. Glorfindel had never looked so much like a predator.

“Used well yesterday,” Glorfindel commented, then kissed his lips briefly. “You should be used well today. Then you will become accustomed to it, _meleth nín_.” He smiled. “And there is always later, when I win my prize in the arena.”

“Arena?” echoed Gildor, suddenly remembering that they were to spar again today. He felt completely overwhelmed by Glorfindel’s demands upon him, and patted the warrior’s arm in an attempt at reassurance.

“Believe me,” he said, daring to tease. “I will talk to Lord Elrond about recommencing your duties as soon as possible...” His voice grew faint again when he saw Glorfindel reach for the oil, and it suddenly felt as if there wasn’t enough air in the space between them. Something flipped lazily in his stomach, the proof of his own desire, and yet he resisted it. “But I ache,” he argued, his final ploy, “everywhere. You have no idea.”

“Then you will fall to me all the sooner,” Glorfindel replied. Gildor felt the first oil-covered finger teasing at him, and his traitorous body relaxed, welcoming it. “Isn’t that what you want too?”

He thought about it for a brief moment, between thrusts of that thick finger. Glorfindel was quite right. He did want it, and he wanted it the way he had not done yesterday. He wanted to be taken right then and there in the arena, freshly defeated, Glorfindel’s prize in all ways possible. If anyone happened upon them, it was the will of the Valar, and he would not question it.

“What I want is to win, at least once.” He decided he was not going to admit the truth, not out loud. HIs treacherous body was doing all the talking for him anyway. He pressed his hips upward, seeking more of Glorfindel’s finger, as wanton as any courtesan.

“You will need to learn to wield your sword,” came the answer, followed by a rich chuckle. He felt hot, and breathless, lost in a war between his need and his pride. “You have great spirit, but you are far too easily distracted, and you must improve your strength and your stamina.”

This last pronouncement was accompanied by a second finger, and he gasped, writhing beneath the warrior as if to escape the sudden influx of sensation. It was a feeble protest, and his head fell back as he keened in raw need. “I have not fought from need since we left Aman, at least not more than a handful of times. I am out of practice.”

“All the more reason for us to spar, _bain nín_. I do not want to worry about you. You will thank me one day.” Glorfindel’s smirk was unspeakably smug, he concluded, and he glared up at the warrior.

“More like the guard will thank me for taking the thrashing they might have endured otherwise.” He let himself go limp. “But if needs be, we’ll fight. In the meantime, I am going to let you do all the work, wicked elf, while I conserve my strength.”

Glorfindel hummed in approval. “Good decision,” he noted, while his fingers continued to rub slowly against Gildor’s inner muscles. He sighed, still partly sore from the day before, but he could not seem to resent Glorfindel’s touch, especially not when it would precede his lovemaking.

The reminder of the day before made him moan loudly when Glorfindel pressed those fingers inside him. It was not painful, not as such, but it rather added to his pleasure in an entirely new way.

“My Dúlinnor,” Glorfindel murmured. “Tame to my touch. So much so you fly back to me in the morning.” Gildor felt the familiar blush creeping into his cheeks as Glorfindel spoke that way, but said nothing. He could not keep the moans in as Glorfindel gave him a few fabulous shallow thrusts, easing slowly deeper.

“Let me in further, _melethron_ ,” Glorfindel said then. “Lift this leg for me.” And he grasped Gildor’s thigh, gently, but it still made Gildor whimper in sudden pain. For a few moments, he had forgotten all the aches and pains which accompanied him in wakefulness that morning, and the bruise.

“ _Ai_! That hurts!” Gildor complained, pulled out of the submissive mood that had descended upon him. He blinked his eyes open, and Glorfindel stilled, hushing him while he inspected Gildor’s leg.

“It is merely a light bruise,” Glorfindel said at last. “I did not hit you too hard there. You have spent too long in that library of yours. Your body has forgotten what it is to really live.”

Gildor bristled, feeling angry, though the worst thing was that Glorfindel believed himself. He’d been completely aware of what he was doing during their duelling. Gildor had not pushed the warrior far enough to make him lose control. And yet… what right had Glorfindel to decide how much pain was too much?

“I choose my own life, and I like the library,” Gildor muttered darkly, and pushed hard against Glorfindel’s chest, suddenly no longer in the mood to humour the warrior. “Stop.”

Glorfindel chuckled and ignored him, pressing his fingers in again. He pushed again, harder this time.

“You do not listen well,” he grumbled, and did his best to pull away from his lover’s questing fingers. “The mood has flown. I think I will go and bathe now.”

“Do not be silly,” Glorfindel said, and there was a bit of an edge to his tone. “You are overreacting, and it is not amusing.” He used his weight to pin Gildor in place.

“I have said I want you to stop.” He heard the edge in his own voice, and so did Glorfindel. “You say my body has forgotten what it is like to live, but I did not choose the life of a warrior. I chose my path. I chose to be a mapmaker.” He wriggled and growled when he could not work himself free.

“You chose the easy life.” Glorfindel sat back, and now he was frowning. “Is this because I hit you? Are you become so soft, in your peaceful valley?”

“Yes, I chose the easy life.” He scrambled back to the head of the bed, pulling his knees up defensively. “We are at peace, or had you missed that? Is this not what peace is for? Living easy? Would you say this to Lord Elrond?”

Glorfindel blinked. “He is a warrior, as well as a healer. I have heard tales of his prowess in battle.”

“But he lives easy now himself.” Gildor glared over his knees at the blond warrior. “You, on the other hand, cannot ever live easy. Everything needs to be a contest, and you must win at all costs. No, it’s not a very big bruise, but it does hurt, and I don’t particularly like being hurt, or mocked when I am. So let me make it easy. I concede. You win. Are you satisfied?”

To his surprise, Glorfindel did not seem chastised, nor yet did he seem ignorant. Instead, he seemed surprised, and Gildor rolled his eyes heavenward. Is this what it had come to? Had he created this monster by giving in to Glorfindel so frequently that now the role was so established he was not even expected to know his own mind?

“I am sorry,” Glorfindel said at last. “I did not mean to scorn your choices.” He looked down, and despite himself Gildor felt something in him give a little. “I suppose I just assumed… it does not matter.”

“Oh, it does,” Gildor replied, not willing to let Glorfindel get away with this. It was important, and he sensed it clearly. “It matters. If there is something you wish to say, you had better air it now.”

Glorfindel looked up, and he was proud, unapologetic. “All right,” he said. “You know I wanted you before, when we were in Gondolin. Did you never think why?”

Gildor shrugged, unimpressed. What had this to do with anything?

“I loved you because you were different. You had passion, and haven’t you even realised it was partly because of your endeavour that the refugees from Gondolin had an escape route? It was you who mapped it.”

Gildor shook his head slightly. “You,” Glorfindel breathed. “You knew the pursuit of your immortality as well as any of us. Your daring was extraordinary. Those early years in Gondolin when the country round about was still dangerous. Yet you were out there as often as the warriors, tracking distances, marking the countryside where orcs still roamed. I recognised your dedication. I admired it.”

This little speech sank in only slowly, and still Gildor could not account for Glorfindel’s behaviour over the last day or so. Glorfindel sighed, and it was a thing he so rarely did it made Gildor look to him in surprise.

“You made me remember, as soon as we were together. And I was so proud to have you at last, because in your own way you are fearless, and a hero. And when you readied yourself to face me yesterday…” Here, Glorfindel actually blushed, one hand rubbing the back of his neck. “I did what I did yesterday, and I compared you to Lord Elrond because I did not wish to insult you. Yes, I knew I would win, but in my sheer infatuation with you I assumed you capable of anything. Even facing me, when I have dedicated myself to being unbeatable.”

He looked at Glorfindel, colour high on those magnificent cheekbones, and he found himself without words for a long moment. He looked down at his knees, and then back up at Glorfindel. “You assumed me capable of anything? You think me fearless?” He would not-- _could_ not think of himself as a hero. That was something for elves like Glorfindel, and Lord Elrond. He merely did what he did best, and that was in the library.

“If I told you how many times I have been afraid, you would think differently.” He sighed a little, his arms loosening their grip on his shins. “I make my maps because I can remember what I see, the small details of it all, how the land rises and falls, the path of a stream and the borders of a wood. It becomes orderly on parchment, nothing to fear any more, and clear for others so they can see what I hold in my mind. The shape of a place.”

And now he moved, dared to reach out to touch Glorfindel’s cheek. “The shape of what I hold most dear. I know your lines, the planes and peaks, the ridges of muscle and the feel of your golden pelt when I rest my head on your broad chest. I know I am safe in your arms, even if I grumble about it sometimes.”

Glorfindel’s hand closed over his, the strong fingers gentle. “Every time you push past your limits, yes, I think you fearless. It is why I say you are capable of anything, because you prove it to me every day.” His colour deepened. “I ask much of you. I know this. I show you your limits, and I push you to expand them, and you do. You do it with such extraordinary grace, I am almost breathless. I have never known anyone who is more fearless.”

He swallowed, looking up at the blond warrior. “I am sometimes most afraid when you push me past my limits. I fear losing myself in those moments.”

Glorfindel nodded slowly. “But I will never let you be lost, not again, not now. I have remembered you, and I will not leave you again. I cannot promise not to push you, or test your patience. I think I was made to do that.”

Gildor sighed again, and all at once, he felt desire return. Before he let himself be addled by the sheer vitality that was his lover, he looked deep into the warrior’s eyes. “We will spar, one round. This time, let us agree in advance you will best me, but before you do, you will teach me.”

“Will I get a prize?” Glorfindel dared a smirk, and he could not help smiling back.

“Do I look foolish enough to say no?”

Glorfindel only smiled more broadly, pushing Gildor back into the softness of the bed. “Of course, I’d like a taste of what I would be getting,” Glorfindel suggested, and Gildor could not help giggling. Then he sighed in a long suffering way, overacting on purpose.

“A taste is what you say, but you intend to feast until we are late for breakfast,” Gildor said, somehow completely unsurprised when Glorfindel got straight back to preparing him.

“Hmm…” Glorfindel replied, distracted, and Gildor felt the fingers withdraw, then held his breath as Glorfindel’s cock breached him. “Am I testing your patience now?”

There was too much pleasure, Gildor was sure. “Oh, not yet,” he said on a moan. “Keep going.”

He clung to Glorfindel as the warrior set a hard, steady pace, voicing little moans of pleasure into Gildor’s ear.

“I think I should call you, _ambalë_ ,” he gasped, teasing. “And hope your guards know the difference.” Glorfindel altered his vocalisations to little growls and Gildor tried hard to avoid laughing, since that would constrict him around Glorfindel, and it paid to be relaxed when Glorfindel was actually inside him.

He could not quite manage it though, and breathed an apology when Glorfindel had to stop for a moment. Gildor blinked and looked up at Glorfindel, seeing his golden hair, but it only managed to get a smirk from him. “Am I testing _your_ patience?” he queried, cheeky, knowing very well what it did.

Glorfindel actually shuddered atop him, his eyes dark and stormy blue. “Don’t tease me like that,” he managed. “I cannot help it!” Then he began moving again, this time harder. Gildor cried out, and yet he could not help loving that he inspired this reaction in Glorfindel. He did not resist at all, but let himself go limp and pliant, only tensing a little when he felt himself climax helplessly in the face of Glorfindel’s ravishing of his body.

When Glorfindel came too some moments later, everything felt right between them again, although he was sure he would still feel this later on when Glorfindel claimed his “prize” for winning their duel.

They took a few moments to lay wrapped in each other, sharing the peace of the morning, before they headed off for a bath and breakfast. Gildor was surprised his appetite was still larger than usual. That he ate heartily did not go unnoticed by the Lord of Imladris, although Elrond kept his own counsel on the matter. Glorfindel merely plied him with choice treats, and refilled his tea as needed.

Sated, they adjourned back to Glorfindel’s room to dress for sparring, and Gildor had a momentary bit of trepidation as he fastened his leather armour. He had set his terms to Glorfindel, but he could not recall if the warrior had agreed to them. He snuck a glance at the blond elf, magnificent even in simple leather, and reminded himself this was Glorfindel, after all. He would be pushed to his limits, yes, but not beyond them. Never that, because above all else, he was loved.

 

To be continued...

 

**Authors' Note:** Thank you for reading – we hope you enjoyed this chapter. Why not leave a word or two? We will respond :)

 

**Translations:**

_meleth nín_ –  my love

_melethron_ – lover 

_bain nín_ – my beauty

_Dúlinnor_ –  nightingale 

_ambalë_ –  small yellow bird


	19. Chapter Nineteen

**Chapter Nineteen**

They set out for the place they had fought the day before, and he was not afraid when they faced each other. He did his best to watch Glorfindel, to read the small signs in the other elf which might signal a readiness to move, and he was heartened when he did manage to anticipate a lunge once or twice. And as he had requested, Glorfindel stopped frequently to teach him.

“ _Ai_ ,” he groaned, as his sword met Glorfindel’s sword, and the vibration ran up his arm painfully. Glorfindel stopped, and stepped to his side.

“No, you’re holding your sword wrong.” Strong fingers closed around his hand. “Do you see how white your knuckles are? You are strangling the hilt, and there is no give. When your sword meets mine, the energy must go somewhere, and that is here, up along your arm. At best, you tire yourself faster. At worst, you will drop your sword.”

He looked up at his lover, as wide-eyed as any elfling at his first lesson. “Why did no one ever think to tell me this before?”

“Because you are a cartographer, and not a guard.” Glorfindel smiled, and adjusted his fingers. “There. Like that. Try it.”

He took his stance again, and Glorfindel lunged. He parried, and to his amazement, it did not feel so awful this time. “It’s better!” he cried in amazement.

He waited for Glorfindel’s smile, and lunged, managing to catch Glorfindel off guard and land one slap of the blade on his lover’s leather bracer. Then he was tumbled to the ground, laughing up at the warrior. “Point to me?”

Glorfindel grumbled about it, but released him, helping him to his feet before they began again. Gildor did much better, mostly because he was more relaxed, and it was only as his leg began to tire that Glorfindel scored several light hits, none of which hurt in the least.

He actually enjoyed it, and yet when Glorfindel finally disarmed him, he was ready to surrender. He pulled out his knives, only to lay them on the ground at Glorfindel’s feet. He wouldn’t be needing them for the next half hour or so. He looked up from his knees, and seeing Glorfindel victorious above him didn’t sting like it did the day before.

The warrior gestured with his sword. “On your feet,” he said, “and over there.” Gildor followed the point of the sword and scrambled to obey, heading for the longer, cool green grass, followed closely by Glorfindel, still armed.

He turned, and again there was an eloquent gesture with the sword. “Undress,” Glorfindel said, his eyes sparkling with excitement. Gildor felt an answering thrill in his own heart as he did what the warrior commanded, stripping with haste until he was quite naked, remembering just in time to retain the oil from his pocket.

It was a warm day, and Gildor sank down into the grass with a happy sigh, feeling it cool and welcoming against his skin. He settled on his front, legs slightly parted, darting a glance back at his lover. “Will you join me and claim your reward?” he dared, turning back to the grass and plucking daisies and clover from it while he heard Glorfindel divesting himself of armour and clothing behind him.

Everything was different to the day before. Gildor relaxed as bees buzzed lazily around him in the sunshine, the air smelled sweet and when Glorfindel at last joined him on the grass, it was perfect. He turned onto his side, resting his head on his hand, propped up by his elbow, and stared into Glorfindel’s eyes.

“ _Írima mahtarnya_ ,” he whispered, and Glorfindel smiled, reaching to pull him close.

“ _Melin tirie hendutya sílale yá lalat_ ,” Glorfindel murmured, his fingers teasing through Gildor’s hair, and undoing the thick plait. “There. You are most beautiful with your hair loose, like the night sky. It makes your skin look like alabaster.”

He looked up at his lover, and he could not help but laugh from pure joy. “You are becoming such a poet. Is this the way you warriors claim your prizes?”

It was Glorfindel’s turn to laugh. “Only when our prize is a cheeky cartographer who shows some promise with a sword.”

“And which sword is it which shows such promise?” He watched heat flare in Glorfindel’s eyes. “Perhaps you could demonstrate for me again?”

It happened again, the world revolved in an instant. He marvelled at the blue of the sky above him, the grass cool beneath his back. Glorfindel had the oil already in hand, and he spread his legs accommodatingly, his arms flung over his head. He could smell the clover and daisies, sweet and green, and he arched his back in a manner he hoped was pleasing.

“I will have you, _mîr nín_ , and you will know you have been claimed.” Glorfindel’s growl sent lovely shivers through him, and he felt his cheeks warming with anticipation.

Glorfindel laid one warm palm against his face. “If all my foes were as fair as you, I would never leave the battlefield,” he said.

“You…!” Gildor said, not having to fake his shock since Glorfindel chose that moment to penetrate him with a finger, and he bit his lip to keep in the moan. “You? _Leave_ the battlefield? I do not believe it!”

Glorfindel laughed in delight, but did not stop. Gildor would have loved to continue teasing his warrior lover, but then Glorfindel was kissing him so he could not speak. He moved his hands to Glorfindel’s hair, feeling his fingers sliding through those perfect curls.

He was not passive, but then the hand that caressed his face moved to his ear, rubbing the tender tip between roughened fingers. Gildor cried out as Glorfindel drew back from the kiss, the slow arousal he’d been feeling suddenly speeded up. So, so fast. He felt dizzy and hot, his hands falling to the ground at either side of him in surrender.

Glorfindel chuckled and leaned over so he could torment Gildor’s other ear with a series of light nibbles. “ _Ai_! I will come!” Gildor cried, pressing his hands against the warrior’s shoulders now. “Glorfindel, please!” Actually, he was not sure he could, just from that touch alone, but it felt as though he might.

“That is better,” Glorfindel praised. “Beg me, little mapmaker. That is the right behaviour for a prize.” But despite his words, he did ease back a little. Gildor was surprised to find the day had not darkened, that the sun had not moved behind a cloud. There was something so darkly sensual about Glorfindel like this. He was so single minded, even more so than usual. Gildor wanted it just as much, and he could not contain his moan of excitement when Glorfindel deemed the preparation enough, withdrawing his fingers, only for Gildor to feel the head of his cock right there.

Glorfindel gazed intently into his eyes as he pushed forward. “My reward,” he said, and for Gildor all of those half-formed thoughts about being promised to Glorfindel suddenly returned to his mind. Despite all of their time together, the first moment of feeling Glorfindel’s possession still made his breath catch in his throat. “That is what you are, is it not?”

“Perhaps you are mine,” Gildor managed, a last bit of cheek before he was lost to the sensation of being so completely filled by Glorfindel once again. “ _Ai_ , move, _meleth_ , or I will lose my mind.” He registered Glorfindel’s deep chuckle right before pleasure surged with his lover’s movement. This was what he wanted, to be claimed and loved as though nothing else existed outside the two of them.

He had never considered what it would be like to be the subject of obsession, but he found he did not dislike it. Perhaps Glorfindel’s single minded focus was alarming at times, but behind it was nothing hurtful. For his part, he had never been so central to anyone before this, nor had he ever expected to find himself Glorfindel’s lover. Had the Valar truly arranged for them to meet again? If so, perhaps he owed them thanks. He was exactly where he wanted to be.

Glorfindel moved again, and it was impossible to hold his train of thought. He was hot again, and he could feel his need spiralling through his belly. There was not enough friction, but it did not matter. Desire would do what was necessary, and Glorfindel was pressing on all the right places as he thrust into him. His fingers slid down, to grip iron-hard biceps, to hold on as he felt himself rising, fever hot and lost to anything beyond this moment.

“Glorfindel,” he cried out, and he knew he spilled because he felt even hotter for a moment, incendiary, and Glorfindel was the sun which ignited him. He felt himself stutter around Glorfindel, knew he had become impossibly tight, and dimly he registered his lover’s groans of pleasure. It would not have mattered one whit were the entirety of the guard of Imladris to assemble around them. He would not have cared, so long as he could soar like this.

As he came back down from his climax he became aware that Glorfindel had not followed him this time. Instead, the warrior took hold of Gildor’s legs, placing Gildor’s ankles against his shoulders, then took his weight onto his hands as he looked down, his body moving in slow, long thrusts.

His body was spent, yet Gildor moaned, aware that if he wanted to, Glorfindel could keep up this pace for some time. He reached up with his hands, to pull Glorfindel down to him, but the warrior resisted, taking Gildor’s wrists and pressing them into the grass. His gaze smouldered, as if the sight of Gildor below him was the very thing that goaded him on.

“Please…” Gildor whispered, tightening his body now consciously, feeling Glorfindel push through it nevertheless. Easily, with all of the strength at his command. Gildor turned his head to the side. It felt too raw, to feel how Glorfindel moved in him, and to look into his eyes at the same time.

“I said you would know you had been claimed,” Glorfindel said, his golden curls damp and dark around his face now as Gildor sneaked a look. “Did you doubt me?” he questioned, and Gildor shook his head, closing his eyes.

“Doubt you?” Gildor echoed on a heartfelt whisper. “Never! You are Glorfindel, _melindonya. Yáressë marlmë_.”

And with his words, he had what he wanted as Glorfindel gathered him up, pressing close, sinking deep. “ _Melinyet_ …” Glorfindel said in response. Gildor felt the proof of it as Glorfindel came, the sensation warm inside him. He almost sobbed, feeling overcome and thoroughly loved.

For a few minutes afterwards they stayed side-by-side, pressed close to each other in the grass, with the sun beating down on them. All their words spoken for now.

Finally, they bestirred themselves to dress again, and Gildor had to admit to himself he had been well and truly claimed. It was not pain. It was a deep seated feeling of having been filled, and even now, even empty, his body held that memory.

Glorfindel’s fingers tangled with his as they walked back to the great house. There was still no pressing need for words. Touch said all they needed to say, fingers entwined, and palms pressed together. Glorfindel’s calluses stood in sharp relief against his skin, and he relished the feel of the roughened texture, so familiar from the way it felt when Glorfindel stroked him. Was there ever so perfect an elf as his lover? He thought not.

Lord Elrond greeted them as they walked through the garden, his keen eyes taking in their leather armor, Gildor’s loose and rumpled hair, and Glorfindel’s air of cheerful satisfaction. It was more than apparent Elrond did not entirely approve, but in the face of Gildor’s smile, he could not object.

The lovers bathed, taking advantage of a quiet period to kiss and hold each other for a while in the warm water, which Glorfindel insisted was obligatory after sparring. After sufficient time to soak away any sore muscles, they dressed in a leisurely fashion and managed to arrive on time for dinner for once.

That evening, Glorfindel did not play any of his usual games, and Gildor was quite relieved, since the day’s activities had again left him feeling quite hungry. Though they still looked to each other often, they also participated in the general chatter around the table, which seemed to soften Lord Elrond’s regard whenever he looked in their direction.

Much the same after dinner, it was a slow dawdling walk back to the nearest of their chambers, which happened to be Glorfindel’s. The warrior’s hand tightened on his, and Gildor felt his heart hurt a little, because he already knew what would happen now, and it did not seem natural for them. Not at all.

“I’m not going to invite you in,” Glorfindel said, “because the temptation is too much.” Gildor nodded quickly, pasting a bright smile on his face, even though he felt like arguing. Glorfindel was right, really. He found his gaze straying to the bandages his lover still wore on his wrists. He’d remade them earlier, after their bath. It would only be a couple more nights. The ropes Lord Elrond had lent them awaited.

“I could not chance falling asleep with you,” Glorfindel said, and Gildor looked up, seeing the same hurt in the warrior’s eyes as he felt himself.

“It is nothing. A couple of days,” Gildor said casually, feeling foolish even as he said it, but perhaps it was not far from the truth at all to say he was addicted to Glorfindel. And perhaps Glorfindel was just as addicted to him. Was it any wonder, really? Considering all of the centuries they had wasted, Gildor thought not. They’d been making up for lost time.

Gildor raised Glorfindel’s hand to his lips to kiss it. “Then, I will have you back,” he said, smiling slightly. “And my mornings.”

Glorfindel moistened his lips. “I was beginning to anticipate your mornings,” he said, and Gildor suddenly pulled Glorfindel into his arms, feeling himself held closely in return for a long moment. Then, determined, he broke free.

“Until tomorrow then,” he said. Glorfindel nodded, and Gildor walked away, pretending to a lightness he did not feel. Neither of them had dared so much as a kiss. He heard the click of Glorfindel’s door as it closed, and turned back as he walked, but there was no longer anything to see except an empty corridor.

He occupied himself with reading until his eyes were drifting closed, then fell into a deep reverie, the book falling out of his hand to land with a quiet thud on the floor.

He did not know what roused him. Perhaps it was the lack of a warm body beside him, no strong arm wrapped around him to make him feel secure. It might have been the difference in the moonlight, since his windows faced the side gardens, and not the expansive back garden vista of Glorfindel’s room.

Whatever it was, he roused, and blinked owlishly, trying to focus his eyes in the ridiculously unfamiliar room. He had left the windows open just a bit, and the night breeze wafted the pale silk curtains into spectral shapes. He snorted a bit at the dramatic imagery his mind offered up, induced by what he had been reading before he fell into reverie. He felt around for the book, frowning as he patted the duvet to no avail.

With a sigh, he sat up, meaning to slide to the side of the bed, and look on the floor for his book. The librarian would have his head if a page had gotten foxed, or Valar forbid, the spine broken. He grimaced at the memory of past lectures over his carelessness. He almost did not notice the darker shadow near the door, at least not until his feet were dangling over the edge.

“ _Áse nuhta_.” The voice was dark and foreboding, the words grated out as if they caused pain. He was so startled, he could not stop his slide toward the floor.

“ _Áva care_.”

He cried out in wordless fear as he scrambled to the top of the bed, the menace in the words chilling him to his very core. Without thinking, he began to count the steps he would need to get to his chest, where his sword waited. Why had he not thought to put a dagger under a pillow? Truly, peace had addled him, and Glorfindel was right. “Who are you? What do you want?”

The shadow moved, disengaging itself from the deeper darkness and stepping into the moonlight. The pale light framed the golden curls in a nimbus. “ _Ma lavil_?”

“Glorfindel? Why are you here? What’s wrong?” He could feel his heart hammering behind his ribs. “Was it another dream?”

 

“ _Ma lavil_?” There was threat in the tone now, and he looked at his lover in dismay.

“I yielded this afternoon, don’t you remember?” In desperation, he reached for the candle at his bedside, meaning to light it. “When we were sparring?”

“ _Áva quete_!” Glorfindel frowned, and threw one hand over his eyes as Gildor managed to light the candle.

They remained as they were for long moments, and he was sure the beating of his heart was audible in the strained silence. He must have been bordering on pure hysteria, he decided, because he could not help noticing Glorfindel’s robe hung open to the waist, revealing his broad chest with its golden hair. His lover’s eyes were wide and dilated, though, and he was sure Glorfindel saw only what was in his mind.

“ _A ná férima ohtan_.” Glorfindel turned and left, his steps silent.

He stared at the open door for several minutes before he was able to summon up the presence of mind to leave the bed and close it. He hesitated, and then fastened the lock with trembling fingers, all hope of reverie gone as he huddled under the duvet to wait for dawn.

The morning light came but slowly, and Gildor watched every passing second, fearing that Glorfindel would return. Even when it was full light, he waited. He was cowering and he knew it, hated it, but it only took the memory of Glorfindel’s menacing presence in the dark to start him shivering again.

At last he rose from his bed and dressed - not in a robe as he usually would, but in a full set of clothing. Somehow, it made him feel more protected. He waited by his locked door until he heard voices passing by, then unlocked it and slid stealthily out, alert in case Glorfindel should be waiting for him even now.

He was torn between seeking out Elrond, or checking upon his lover first. What if Glorfindel had not returned to his room? What if he was in trouble somewhere? Walking sleep was not unknown, but not with those dreams Glorfindel was being subjected to.

As if his feet had made up his mind for him, he found himself slowing as he reached Glorfindel’s door, hesitant but needful. He needed to know! Gildor knocked on the door, almost timid, fearing what would happen if Glorfindel answered. Fearing what may happen if he did not.

No voice called out to him, even though he stood close to the door so as not to miss any invitation to enter. He was about to step back and seek out Elrond when the door opened a crack. Then it opened wider and he was pulled inside before he could even draw breath.

Inside Glorfindel’s room, the dawn was a riot of golden light, and he was momentarily blinded by it. A finger was placed to his lips, and it was Glorfindel, awake and made harmless again by the light. “ _Áva quete_ ,” whispered the warrior, and Gildor opened his eyes wide, suddenly afraid that Glorfindel might still be dreaming, even now. His knees felt weak as he was pressed back into the closed door.

Glorfindel’s lips were on his, crowding him, and Gildor cried out.

“I have missed you, _bain nín_ ,” Glorfindel told him, between kisses, oblivious to his distress. “I roused from reverie, and my side was cold without you beside me. I was hoping you would come, or I was going to have to come looking for you.” The warrior looked down at Gildor, his expression one of puzzlement. “You are dressed. Do you not want to spend a little time with me? Am I being punished for sending you away last night?” Now Glorfindel looked reproachful.

He looked at his lover, and it was clear to him Glorfindel remembered nothing of the night before. The blond elf leaned in for another kiss, and he could not stop himself from flinching. It was a small movement, but Glorfindel stepped back as though he had been slapped.

“I am sorry!” he cried out, and he reached out to Glorfindel. “It was just…” How did he tell Glorfindel about last night? How would he find the words to explain what it had been like, that dark presence, the menace in the quiet words?

He could not bear the hurt in Glorfindel’s eyes. Even if he stumbled over them, he needed to find some words. “You had a walking sleep last night. You came to my room.”

Glorfindel shook his head. “How could that be? Nothing was disturbed in my room, not even my robe, which is still on the foot of the bed.” The warrior turned, and gave a soft cry. His robe was tossed not on the bed, but on the floor, near the window. When he turned back to Gildor, he looked lost. “What did I do?”

“You spoke to me.” It sounded so harmless in the bright dawn sunlight. “You wanted me to yield, and then you told me to be ready for battle.” He swallowed hard. “It was much more frightening in the dark, when I woke from reverie.”

“I did not harm you, though?” The question had a desperate edge, and he shook his head.

“You only spoke, and then left. Believe me, it was enough.” He stepped forward, hesitant, wanting the comfort of Glorfindel’s embrace. “You said those very words to me last night. Don’t speak, you said. _Áva quete_ , exactly like that.” He did his best to duplicate the deep growl Glorfindel had used.

Seeing as how Glorfindel seemed afraid to touch him all of a sudden - and Gildor could not blame him - he simply stepped forward again and linked his hands around the back of Glorfindel’s waist, resting his chin on the warrior’s shoulder.

“What are we going to do?” he asked. Then Glorfindel embraced him in turn, and everything was alright for a few moments between them, despite the threat of the night to come. Every day ends. Gildor thought for a moment. “I could always sleep somewhere else… secret,” he suggested.

Glorfindel’s arms tightened a little. “Oh, I don’t think that will work, _meleth nín_ ,” he said, and Gildor had a sudden vision of Glorfindel tearing Imladris apart looking for him. He shivered.

“Point taken,” he replied. “But we cannot tell Lord Elrond of this. Your own guards would be posted at my door to protect me from you, and they would never forget such a task. They would no longer trust you.”

Gildor stepped back and drew one of Glorfindel’s hands into his, unlayering the bandage around his wrist carefully. He winced when the flesh was still shiny pink and sore. That was out of the question then.

He looked into his lover’s eyes. Glorfindel was strangely quiet, and yet he suddenly didn’t seem as worried as Gildor himself. “What is it?” he asked tentatively.

“ _Bain nín_ , you have thought of it already!” Glorfindel said with a smile. He threw an arm around Gildor’s shoulder. “Come. We will both go to your room. I am awake now, and I am the head guard. I will personally check your security against unwanted guests.”

 

To be continued...

 

**Authors' Note:** Thank you for reading - we hope you had fun. Please leave a comment on your way out. :)

 

**Translations:**

_Írima mahtarnya –_ My beautiful warrior (Quenya)

_Melin tirie hendutya sílale yá lalat –_ I love to see your eyes shine when you laugh (Sindarin)

_mîr nín –_ my treasure  (Sindarin)

_melindonya. Yáressë marlmë... –_ my lover. Once upon a time, we live...(Quenya)

_Melinyet –_ I love you  (Quenya)

_Áse nuhta –_ Stop that (Quenya)

_Áva care –_ Don’t do it (Quenya)

_Ma lavil? –_ Do you yield? (Quenya)

_Áva quete –_ Don't speak  (Quenya)

_A ná férima ohtan –_ Be ready for battle (Quenya)

_bain nín –_ my beauty  (Sindarin)


	20. Chapter Twenty

**Chapter Twenty**

Some time later, when Glorfindel had made several alterations to his room, including adding locks to his windows and installing an inside latch with a padlock to his door, Gildor felt much happier too. Surely tonight would be safe. Hadn’t Glorfindel himself tested the arrangements?

They ate a hasty breakfast, and packed a light lunch, heading off for the training arena. Gildor was more than happy to face off with his lover, and if he was not very much improved, his enthusiasm made up for it. He reduced Glorfindel to tears of laughter more than once, until the warrior declared the sparring over, and named the birds the winners, since they had been watching the foolishness and cheering both elves on with bright songs.

They spread out the luncheon, and nibbled on fresh bread, rich yellow cheese, and sweet berries, and shared a flask of the effervescent cider which was a specialty of Imladris. Replete, Gildor stretched out alongside Glorfindel, his head on his lover’s shoulder, and his arm around the warrior’s narrow waist.

“Thank you, _meleth_ ,” Gildor said, feeling warm and lazy. “I have learned three new things I should not do when attempting to defend myself. Before long, I will actually learn the things I should be doing.”

Glorfindel’s chuckle was muffled in his hair as the warrior nuzzled him. “There are always things you should be doing, you know. I can think of one or two at the moment, unless you are too tired, of course.”

He turned his head, lifting it to give Glorfindel an incredulous look. “You won no prize, though. You declared the songbirds the winners, so I would not be so hasty, wicked elf.” He shifted to straddle Glorfindel, looking down at the warrior with a cheeky grin. “Maybe I will claim a prize today, for being so entertaining. You did not think I could be a jester, did you?”

To his surprise, Glorfindel did not attempt to throw him off or reverse their positions, nor did he even argue. Instead he slid his hands up Gildor’s thighs until they came to rest on his hips, gripping him there tightly.

“What are you up to now, wicked elf?” Gildor asked, though he knew very well, and he wasn’t surprised at all by the first sharp thrust upwards that Glorfindel gave him. They were still dressed, and Gildor could feel that his lover was not hard, not yet. Then, instead of repeating the movement, Glorfindel rubbed insistently back and forth against him. Gildor closed his eyes.

Another sharp movement, and Gildor almost lost his balance, reaching down with his hands to Glorfindel’s chest as he caught his breath. There it was, harder now and so big. Sometimes, Gildor forgot just how impressive his lover actually was. His own body was responding, just at the thought of it, at the suggestive way Glorfindel was moving while holding him quite still.

Yet those movements never resolved into any kind of discernible rhythm, and each one took him by surprise, until he was moaning softly at each one with his eyes shut, perched atop Glorfindel’s body. With each thrust, Glorfindel was almost taking Gildor’s entire body weight, and the reminder of his lover’s strength surprised him pleasantly too.

“Mmm…” Gildor said at last, still responding, knowing he was as hard as Glorfindel now. “You win,” he capitulated. “We will do it your way.”

He opened his eyes slowly, seeing Glorfindel staring up at him. The warrior smiled.

“Would you like to go somewhere more private first?” he asked, and Gildor gasped in sudden shock, looking around them, seeing one or two of the guards loitering not far away. Suddenly he let his upper body down, resting against Glorfindel’s chest. He would have moaned in dismay, but suspected he’d already done enough moaning in public.

“You made me forget myself,” he lamented in a harsh whisper. “You wicked tease!” He lifted his head and glared. “Yes. I want to go somewhere private with you.” Glorfindel laughed in response.

He thumped Glorfindel’s shoulder. “And you laugh as me as well? How much did they see?” He slid off Glorfindel, trying to adjust himself discreetly, a task made easier by his waning arousal. He was sure his cheeks were brighter than the coals of the fire in the great hall, late at night when almost everyone was abed.

“Do not be so irritable, _bain nín_.” Glorfindel sounded supremely relaxed, and he shot his lover another glare.

“I prefer not to be tumbled in public, if you do not mind.” He tugged his leather tunic back into place, and ran his fingers through his hair. “I am not one of the trollops of the edain.” His heart was beating hard, but it was not from desire, for once. He did not dare look in the direction of the guards, lest he see amusement in their eyes.

Glorfindel stood as well, and pulled him close. “They would never think that of you. They know you are my beloved, and I value your life above my own. But I will tell you this. You are even more beautiful when you are indignant. We had best hurry, before I decide I need to kiss you, right here.”

He looked up at Glorfindel, and he wanted to hold on to his anger. It was a cruel jest, to let him moan like that in front of the guard. But the love in Glorfindel’s eyes warmed him in all the right ways, and he could feel his lover’s heart beating through the leather of his armor. It came to him he had missed their night, and their morning more than he expected. He recalled his worry as he made his way to Glorfindel’s room that morning, his fear for the warrior.

“You are wicked indeed, to toy with me like that.” It was a feeble grumble, and he knew it, just as he knew Glorfindel would feel the tension leaving his muscles, and loosen his hold. He took advantage, twisting free and he called over his shoulder as he began to run. “I thought you were in a hurry?”

He could hear Glorfindel’s heavier footfalls as he ran, but did not look back. He expected Glorfindel to be slower than him, but couldn’t be sure, and the sensation of being chased was so thrilling he knew he wasn’t making very good time.

Still, he made it Glorfindel’s door, laughing so hard his knees felt weak, and wrenched it open just as Glorfindel reached him. Gildor ran to the bed, laughing in delight as his lover closed and locked the door behind them.

He felt exhilarated and free as he began to pull off his clothes, noting that Glorfindel was doing the same as he walked to the bed. His arousal had returned. No one could look upon Glorfindel’s naked form and not be stirred.

“That really was a rotten trick, you know,” he said, trying hard to sound disapproving, and Glorfindel did not laugh at him this time as he climbed onto the bed. As he felt Glorfindel’s proximity, something in him seemed to tune in to a different frequency, his breath becoming short as he reached out to touch the warrior wherever he could reach.

For his part, Glorfindel seemed just as hungry for him, hands stroking over his body restlessly. “I know,” Glorfindel said at last. “Truly, I did not mean to go so far with it. But you were so tempting, and you were beautiful when your body responded. I…” Glorfindel paused, so in earnest Gildor could not resent any more. “I apologise. I kind of forgot for a moment myself where we were.”

Gildor found himself in a familiar position, trapped beneath Glorfindel, yet it was the most wonderful place to be, especially since Glorfindel seemed minded to continue with the slow suggestive rubbing of their bodies, only this time there was nothing in their way. Glorfindel’s cock moved alongside his own, and the friction felt amazing. Glorfindel smiled as he looked down. “Do I still have my nightingale?”

“Oh, yes,” Gildor said, teasing free an errant golden curl, and twining the lock of hair around his forefinger. “I’m quite sure I’ll be singing for you very prettily, too, especially if you keep moving like that.” He yearned upwards into Glorfindel, wanting more of the delicious friction. The irritation from the training grounds was completely gone, and all that was left was desire, and love.

Glorfindel was quite right. It was an addiction, this craving he had to be possessed by the golden warrior. Glorfindel’s touch both slaked his thirst and awakened new desires in him, needs he knew his lover would note and satisfy, beyond his wildest expectation. Every time they lay together, he was taken to new heights, and he would never be able to go back to his staid life as the master cartographer of Imladris, a quiet elf in the library dappled with ink and flecks of gilt.

He sighed in longing as he heard Glorfindel unstop the vial of oil, knowing he would feel the touch he wanted, knowing he would be moaning over Glorfindel’s name soon enough. He might even find himself spilling before he was taken, so much did he need this.

In the very back of his thoughts, he wondered what it would have been like, had they acknowledged this desire back in Aman. He would always wonder, he knew, but he did not think much would have changed, He would still have chosen to follow Fëanor, and Glorfindel would still have chosen to defend them all with no thought for his own safety. Neither of them could have chosen any other path, and how much more would it have hurt to lose Glorfindel if their love had been acknowledged sooner?

He had been avoiding it, but they would have to make that list, the names of the elves they had known, and the fates of those elves. It was all the more pressing now, to ease Glorfindel’s mind and perhaps still those restless dreams. He would remind the warrior, later, in the bath, after he gave himself over one more time to the pleasures only Glorfindel could offer.

As he felt the familiar pressure of Glorfindel’s forefinger, all such thought ceased. His lover moved slightly so as to watch what he was doing with his hand, giving Gildor more room. It was easy for Gildor to lift a leg, resting the sole of one foot lightly against Glorfindel’s shoulder. He closed his eyes, breathing through the pleasure of Glorfindel’s touch.

“You, like this… each time you are the most beautiful thing I have seen since my return,” Glorfindel said quietly. Gildor blinked his eyes open, and found himself the subject of Glorfindel’s intense regard. He could not look away, nor hide the way Glorfindel’s touch made him feel. His breath hitched, and he could not think to formulate a reply, only shiver with arousal as the blood him him pooled low down, making him move slightly in misplaced urgency.

“I have never wanted any lover the way I want you, _mîr nín_ ,” Glorfindel continued. Gildor felt pinned by that piercing gaze. Did Glorfindel know how many times he seemed to Gildor to be one of the Valar themselves?

“Sometimes I wonder if you were born to elfkind, or if you came into existence by the wish of Eru Ilúvatar, sent to reside with us to fulfil some great purpose, unknown and unknowing all at once.” Gildor blushed at these thoughts, but they were true. “That you were not sent back, but chose to return and have since forgotten.”

“I would have chosen it in any case, to be with you,” Glorfindel responded. He drew back his fingers, and the moment had arrived. Gildor gasped.

“Will you restrain me?” he asked. “I will not last!”

“Do you wish it?” Glorfindel paused, considerate.

“I do not know,” Gildor confessed. “I only know I want you.”

“Here, I will help you,” Glorfindel whispered, and as he pushed forward, Gildor felt a hand enclose his own cock, the palm so hot, but a thumb pressed the base of it, holding back the rushing affirmative his body tried to give. He moaned, low, the first of many. It wasn’t love he felt in these moments, but sheer lust, a longing to be taken hard, to raise his voice freely.

Love was part of the song, and just for an instant Gildor understood lust would be part of it too, when it was woven anew at the end of things, at the new beginning. Remade.

It was enough to make him feel hot and crowded, need tugging at him as he was filled just to that fine edge between pain and pleasure. There was no room left for anything but Glorfindel, nothing past the burning need to give himself over to his lover. He no longer cared who heard him, or what they thought. Nothing mattered except this moment.

Glorfindel seemed to know what he needed, and barely gave him time to settle before he was moving, deep, unhurried thrusts which rocked him on the wide bed, and brought him to the point of keening, in his need. His hands were wrapped around solid biceps, his fingers digging into the corded muscle beneath Glorfindel’s silken skin. Even with the thumb so firmly pressing him, he felt himself drawing closer.

“Ai, Valar, I cannot bear it,” he moaned, his back lifting off the bed as he clung to Glorfindel. “I cannot last!”

Glorfindel thrust again, deeper, harder, and he cried out loudly. He felt hot tears sliding from the corners of his eyes, to melt into the damp hair at his temples. “What do you need, bain nín?”

“You,” he answered. “It has always been you I needed.”

“Show me.” Glorfindel moved his hand, withdrew, and pressed in again, hard and deep.

He cried out as he felt himself give way, his eyes fluttering closed as he spilled between them with a sob. He knew he was closing around Glorfindel, pushing at him, but he could not help himself. It was too powerful, made more so by the brief glimpse of what could be. Of what would be, he resolved.

When he returned to the here and now, Gildor was surprised to find Glorfindel had ceased moving, and in fact was draped over him heavily. Gildor forced himself to be satisfied with shallow breaths while he ran his fingers through Glorfindel’s hair.

“I could not stop it,” Glorfindel murmured throatily. “Your body felt so good, I could not…” Gildor wondered what he meant, then felt it, and he smiled suddenly.

“That is good,” he said, trying to be reassuring, thrilled that he seemed to have the same effect upon Glorfindel as Glorfindel had upon him. He lifted up the curtain of Glorfindel’s hair, and uncovered his face, his cheeks burning pink in shocked embarrassment.

Grunting, Glorfindel burrowed closer into his neck so he could not see. Gildor let him, for a minute or two, glorying privately in his new-found power.

“Glorfindel,” he said at last, trying ineffectually to throw the warrior off him. “We should bathe. Get up, before you crush me.” When Glorfindel only growled in response, Gildor reached down and tapped him smartly on the backside. That made him move.

“ _You_ are wicked,” Glorfindel complained, looking at Gildor from beneath his eyelashes, still a little put out.

“I learnt from you,” Gildor said lightly, already getting up from the bed to select a robe. “Let us bathe, then we should go to the library before dinner and make a start on that list.”

It was hard not to gloat, just a little, GIldor realised, but he did his best as they bathed and each washed the other’s hair. It was leisurely, and relaxed, and Glorfindel let Gildor brush his bright mane until the curls looked like spun gold against his fingers.

They went back to Glorfindel’s room to dress, and despite the restorative effects of the bath, Gildor managed to resist Glorfindel’s kisses and sweet touches, instead digging in his heels.

“We need to make a start, if we are to have any hope of solving our mystery.” Gildor was firm. “If it helps, we can get a small bottle of wine, and see if we can stimulate our memories that way.”

“Wine in the library? Now I know you are serious,” Glorfindel replied, but his tone was teasing, and Gildor just laughed. “I imagine as long as we don’t run afoul of Erestor, we could do that.”

“We will use my desk, which is far enough from his work to be safe.” He did not want to think about so much as a drop of water touching some of the ancient tomes Erestor consulted in the course of his researches. Many were irreplaceable, as lost to them all as Gondolin and its magnificent libraries. “But it is important to at least begin, meleth.”

Glorfindel heaved a sigh, looking out his windows at the gardens longingly. “If we make enough progress, could we have a walk in the garden before we dine?” He sounded as wistful as any elfling sent to his lessons on a bright summer morning, and Gildor was hard pressed not to laugh out loud.

“You must have driven your tutors to despair,” he remarked. “But I’m sure we can make time for a stroll, to whet our appetites for the fine meal the kitchens no doubt have in store for us.” He held out his hand to Glorfindel. “But the sooner we begin, the sooner we finish.”

They settled around one of the common tables, each with parchment and a quill, struggling to remember names one by one. Gildor quickly realised the task would never be accomplished in such a fashion.

“Stay here, _meleth_ , with the wine,” he said, giving Glorfindel a wink. “I shall go and see if there is an easier way to accomplish this task.”

Glorfindel smiled thinly with a nod. Gildor could not blame him; this task was testing memories that were vague and many of which Glorfindel had lost. It was a lot to ask of him. Yet Gildor had an idea or two.

He wandered off to find one of the librarians, and instead encountered Erestor who gave him an inquisitive look. “You seem like you are looking for help,” he observed.

“It is not something I should bother you with,” he replied warmly. The queries he had could be answered by one of the scribes here… if only any of them were about. He and Erestor were on friendly terms, both spending large parts of their day in the library, although Gildor had been exempted from that task of late.

“Pfft!” Erestor smiled. “I know you are here to help Glorfindel in some way. Let me be of assistance.”

“Well, I was minded to ask if anyone had taken note of the survivors of Gondolin in any of the reference books,” Gildor said, hesitant. Even as he said it, he realised it was a slender hope.

“The more illustrious figures, certainly,” Erestor said, inclining his head. “Others would need to be sought for in the histories. Unfortunately, while there is an index of sorts, not all of the books have been scrutinised.”

Gildor sighed in disappointment, while Erestor tilted his head.

“However, if you merely wish to know who was there, we have a surviving census, taken fifty years or so before the fall. It was passed to Doriath, where it remained until the end of the First Age. It reappeared in Lindon and was brought to Imladris upon its foundation. Would that help you?”

With a relieved smile of thanks, Gildor nodded. “It would, mellon nín, thank you!”

“Come then, and I will show you where it is.” Erestor led him into a very quiet corner of the library, the scent of ancient parchment stronger here. He hummed a moment under his breath, and Gildor realised Erestor knew every book on these shelves with the familiarity of old friends. He watched as Erestor selected one leatherbound tome, lifting it down gently.

“It has seen some rough days, this one, but it is not going to fall apart if you breathe on it.” There was quiet amusement in Erestor’s voice. “It should withstand even Glorfindel’s touch.”

He felt his cheek warm a little, and hoped he was not too terribly pink. “We will be careful with it nonetheless. Thank you for this, truly. It will make the task much easier than if we had to rely on memory alone.” He took the tome and headed back to Glorfindel, half expecting the warrior to have wandered off.

Glorfindel was still at the table, although the wine was much diminished. He looked up and arched a golden brow at Gildor and his dusty prize. “You look quite pleased with yourself.”

“As I should be. Erestor has loaned us a census taken in the last days of Gondolin. If we read the names, we should be able to make note of those we know, and see if we can remember their fate.” He sat down beside Glorfindel, and opened the leather cover with care.

“Why is it all the prizes in this place are dusty, and smell like old leaves?” Glorfindel wrinkled his nose, but he poured Gildor some wine and settled back in his chair. “Read them aloud to me, _bain nîn_. I like to listen to you.” He closed his eyes, his arms folded across his broad chest.

Gildor huffed a breath. “I see. So, shall I take the notes as well, oh mighty Lord of the House of the Golden Flower?” He hid his smile as he dipped his head over the book, well aware Glorfindel had sat up. He could imagine the glower directed at him, but did not look up. “Let me see. Ah, yes, let us begin here.”

“I shall take notes.” Glorfindel sounded somewhat peevish, but Gildor did not meet his gaze.

“Well, then. Aranwë. Do you remember him?” He read the names, and after a few, as he listened to the scratching of Glorfindel’s quill over the parchment, his urge to giggle faded, and he was able to lift his head. “Just write the ones we remember, meleth. I am reading them all because you knew elves I did not, and I knew elves you would never have encountered.”

They worked together for perhaps an hour, oblivious to all except the roll call, until the bell rang to announce dinner. Gildor put the ledger back, while Glorfindel seemed relieved. Erestor found a pigeon hole for their list, and they went to dinner hand-in-hand.

“We missed our walk,” Glorfindel noted. “Perhaps we could do it after dinner.”

Gildor squeezed his lover’s hand. “Of course we can.”

Dinner was a more subdued affair than usual, and afterwards they strolled through the gardens. They shared the evening with other couples, and yet Glorfindel’s pensive mood seemed to lighten even so, until he was pulling Gildor into little alcoves for secret kisses, until neither of them could wait to get back into the house. It was early yet, they did not need to sleep, and though a foreboding voice in Gildor said they should return to the library, he did not mention it. He, like Glorfindel, was only interested in one thing.

 

To be continued...

 

**Authors' Note:** Thank you for reading, we hope you are enjoying it! 


	21. Chapter Twenty-one

**Chapter Twenty-one**

As usual, by the time the door was shut and they were alone they were laughing, already trying to undress each other as their lips met. Though he managed to convince Glorfindel to raise his arms to take off his tunic, they were much too enthusiastic, and Gildor heard the material rip.

Glorfindel walked him backward to the bed, trying to do it without breaking the kiss, until they fell together into the softness. There was a balmy breeze drifting in through the open window, and the more clothes Gildor was rid of, the better he felt, Glorfindel’s hot skin against his. Valar, it was almost scalding!

This time was different to the others, because they didn’t get straight to it, instead kissing, licking, nibbling, teasing as if they would eat each other alive. There was nothing soft or restrained about their coming together. Beginning to make the list had focused their minds on Gondolin. Both of them remembered that terrible day, and this was its antidote. Against all the odds, even death, they were here - together. They had survived.

There was a deep joy in Gildor before they even got close to the act, a joy that was echoed in Glorfindel, in every touch and taste. He wrapped his hand around Glorfindel’s cock, savouring the feel of that hardness against his palm as Glorfindel’s lips dragged over his cheek; a messy unrehearsed kiss.

“I want it,” Gildor said. “Now.” His own cock was aching for his lover’s hand, and he dragged Glorfindel’s hand down to have him reciprocate the touch, hungry for it.

Glorfindel actually fumbled for the oil, knocking a glass onto the floor that shattered, but even that didn’t penetrate their lust.

Every touch was a celebration, and Gildor yearned into Glorfindel’s hot palm. In the heat of his need, there was no room for inhibition, no place for anything but Glorfindel. He knew he would begrudge even the most cursory of preparation. He wanted to be full again, complete in the only way that mattered.

“ _Ánin quanta_ ,” he begged, his voice raspy with lust. He felt the first touch of a blunt finger, and he cried out in relief, feeling the oil. “I’m ready, please, just take me.” He knew he was well accustomed to Glorfindel by now, and he did not mind the burn, or at least he would not this night.

“I want you easy,” Glorfindel replied, and he worked his fingers into Gildor, his touch incendiary. “ _Mîr nin_ ,” he crooned, his breath hot against Gildor’s ear. “Now you are ready for me, and I will have you, my own.”

His legs were over Glorfindel’s strong forearms, and he was laid open to his lover, trembling with joyful anticipation. The warrior did not make him wait, pressing in past token resistance until he was filled as he craved. Glorfindel shifted, and went deeper, coaxing a groan from him.

“Oh, yes, please,” he breathed, and looked up at the golden warrior above him. It was almost enough, just the sight of Glorfindel, and the burning desire in those bright eyes. He shivered with the surge of lust kindled by that fire, and resisted the urge to touch himself, to coax forth the release which threatened.

Instead he pulled Glorfindel down to him, holding the warrior’s face in his hands and laying a trail of tiny biting kisses along his jaw. Glorfindel slowed down slightly, laughing in delight.

“ _Natyë celva_!” he said, and Gildor had to resist the urge to growl at him, hands moving to his shoulders and nails digging in. He felt fiery and unstable, out of control, longing for Glorfindel to give it to him hard and fast.

“ _Áva pusta_!” he cried out, desperate, and when Glorfindel did not immediately oblige him, he bit again, this time it was Glorfindel’s neck. Above him, Glorfindel moaned, and then suddenly he had what he wanted - the ruthless, deep fucking he craved.

Without meaning to, his nails dragged down the length of Glorfindel’s back as he tossed his head, mouth wide open in fierce pleasure. Glorfindel’s cock seemed to be touching him inside everywhere all at once, and it felt amazing.

“ _Verca yaulë_!” Glorfindel whispered harshly, thrilling Gildor all the more. Though he could not move his legs, he stretched out his spine beneath Glorfindel, tightening around the warrior’s cock, and it seemed to drive the warrior to further extremes.

He was no nightingale now. The sounds that came from him were harsh, visceral grunts as Glorfindel pounded into his body, so deep. They were beyond his ability to contain, each one brought him closer, until he was trembling right on the edge of it - and Glorfindel did not stop.

The sounds he made stuttered harshly, and he felt his body seize in climax over and over, tightening and releasing, his cock jerking eagerly between their bodies until he felt Glorfindel orgasm too along with him. Gildor had never felt so satiated, and he flopped bonelessly beneath his lover, their bodies slick with sweat, their hair damp.

It took them some minutes to come around, laid twisted together as the breeze from the window cooled them off. At last Gildor drew his hands back, and was surprised to find blood under his fingernails. Glorfindel blinked and looked at him, still sprawled over Gildor’s body, heavy and warm.

“I hurt you,” Gildor breathed. “I am sorry.” Glorfindel only smirked.

“Don’t be. It felt fabulous, _hravan_.”

Gildor giggled, only then realising the punishing nature of their coming together. “Ouch,” he said, feeling sore and well-used. Glorfindel moved carefully, and Gildor hissed, secretly glad he would spend the night alone in his room. There could be no repeat performance this night. He did not think his body could take it!

When Glorfindel had withdrawn, and settled down beside him, he turned and rested his head in his customary place on the warrior’s broad chest. “I should offer to clean those scratches, but I do not think I can move,” he confided. Really, it was extraordinary how Glorfindel could radiate such heat. It felt too good, and they would need to part far too soon.

“I would not worry overmuch.” Glorfindel’s hand was warm as it glided over his back, the caress as relaxing as the feel of silken chest hair under his cheek. “I have had far worse, and I am sure a proper bath tomorrow will see them nearly gone.”

“Stubborn, stoic warriors.” Gildor could not help the joy which infused his words, robbing them of any hint of grumbling. “I still do not want to move yet.”

“Nor do I want you to leave, but I can feel your breathing deepen, and you will be fast asleep before we know it. While I would enjoy it quite a bit, I am sure you do not want me carrying you through the halls to your room for all to see.” Glorfindel’s voice danced with laughter, and he lifted his head to look at the blond elf.

“You would enjoy it,” he agreed. “I can almost see your smirk in the morning, too, when everyone looks across the table at us. Wicked elf.”

“Your wicked elf.” Glorfindel pulled him closer, nuzzling his hair tenderly. “Should we bathe before you go off to your room, or wait until the morning?”

He sighed, knowing full well this delaying tactic. First a bath, and then the inevitable undoing of all the bath had achieved. He was already too sore to manage another go, he decided, and the realisation made him sigh again.

“Oh, no, such sighing bodes ill,” Glorfindel said, one finger delving under his chin to make him look up. “It is only for a few more nights, _bain nín_. And then my wrists will feel better, and you can go back to trussing me up like a prize to be unwrapped in the morning.”

Gildor smiled and snuggled closer. “Do you promise?” he asked, and unbidden, his gaze flicked to the chest that stood on the far side of the room, remembering the feathered wand. Glorfindel caught his look.

“Oh, no you don’t!” he said, laughing deeply. “I shall move that chest before you tie me up again.”

“Ha!” Gildor said, poking his lover in the chest with a finger. “Spoilsport…”

Glorfindel caught Gildor’s wrist in one large hand. “Of course, if you’re curious,” he said warmly, “you could always come bathe with me, and I will show you some more of the toys in there.”

He bit his lip, because Glorfindel was so very tempting, and he was wavering, he knew it. “It’s still quite early,” Glorfindel pointed out, running his fingers through Gildor’s hair gently. He was on the verge of yes when he shifted slightly and groaned, turning onto his back.

Stretching happily, he expected the burning sensation this time, and even revelled in it. “Oh, Glorfindel. I really think I should go to bed.” He closed his eyes as Glorfindel leaned near to him, kissing his forehead affectionately.

“Then you should go under your own steam, _meleth_ ,” he said. “Remember that you need to engage those new locks from the inside.”

That woke him up a bit, and he blinked, sitting up and reaching to gather his clothing. Trying to put it on while Glorfindel continued to tease him, still hoping to convince him to bathe.

But at last it was done, and he gave Glorfindel a sweet kiss or two, perhaps three, before heading off to his own room. He really was tired, but he took the time to engage all of the locks, just as Glorfindel had shown him. Having done so, he felt much safer, and he drifted off, exhausted by the previous night and the following day.

He was roused from reverie by a most unaccustomed sound. Someone was rattling his door, quite vigorously. He found himself tangled in the bedding as he sat up, blinking to help him focus. Much to his surprise, though, it stopped, and he found himself wondering if he’d imagined it all.

“This is what you get for indulging in wine in the library,” he muttered, trying to sort out the bedding. “And then wine with dinner. And oh, that glorious lovemaking. No wonder I’m addled.”

The moonlight was bright through his window, and he smiled to himself as he curled up in his pillows, missing the warmth of Glorfindel beside him. His eyes closed, and reverie began to steal over him again, sweet and welcome. The gentle breeze from the window lulled him even more.

But there should be no breeze, he realised. He had locked his window, very carefully, exactly the way Glorfindel had shown him. His eyes flew open again, and he clutched the bedding around his neck, scarcely daring to breathe.

“ _Findelya vanima ná_.” The throaty whisper was unmistakable. “ _Áva sorya_.”

 

To be continued...

 

**Authors' Note:** Thank you for reading! We hope you are enjoying it! :)

 

**Translations (Quenya unless stated otherwise):**

_Ánin quant_ _a –_ Fill me

_Mîr nín –_ my treasure (Sindarin)

_Natyë celva –_ You are (an) animal

_Áva pusta –_ Don’t stop

_Verca yaulë –_ Wild cat

_hravan –_ wild beast

_Findelya vanima ná –_ You have pretty hair

_Áva sorya –_ Don’t be afraid


	22. Chapter Twenty-two

**Chapter Twenty-two**

“I’m not afraid,” he whispered, but his heart beat so hard as fingers trailed through his hair. “How did you get in?”

“Does it matter? I’ve found you, my beautiful Noldo love. I will keep you safe, I promise.”

There was nothing but love in the quiet words, and yet he knew his lover spoke to a shade, someone in the past. He did not know how to reply, past the sudden thickness in his throat. He was quite sure the beating of his heart was loud enough to be audible in the still of the room, even above the strained sound of his breath.

Gildor was frozen, aware there was no threat in Glorfindel at the moment, and he did not dare to disturb anything. Too afraid to even tremble, he focused on his breathing. In contrast, Glorfindel was not still at all, and the warrior’s large hands roamed over his skin, sweeping over his chest and stomach possessively.

The less he reacted, the more ardent Glorfindel seemed to become, until his lover’s lips were teasing at his ear - a nip of teeth that made Gildor whimper quietly. Glorfindel made a low sound in his throat, of pleasure, his hands becoming bolder, more purposeful. Gildor drew in a breath, understanding what would happen if he did nothing.

“ _Áva malatya melindo_ ,” he whispered urgently. Glorfindel stilled, his breath warm on Gildor’s neck.

“ _Melindonya_ ,” he repeated in wonder, his hands beginning to move again. For all that this was a different Glorfindel, his touch felt the same. “ _Intyë_? Gildor…” He heard Glorfindel wet his fingers with his mouth, then felt those same fingers seeking a more intimate touch. Gildor hissed and tried to move away.

“ _Melindonya_ , don’t fight me,” Glorfindel said, then hesitated. “Or are you a trick?”

Hearing Glorfindel say those words was terrifying for it heralded a change, it would make this dream the same as all the others. Gildor relaxed, pressing his back against Glorfindel’s chest in an attempt to seem eager and submissive. “Ahh, yes,” Glorfindel said in pleasure, the intimate touch beginning again, and this time Gildor did not resist, though his heart felt like a block of frozen marble.

He tried to tell himself it was only Glorfindel, who had touched and known his body many times before. He tried to tell himself that as long as Glorfindel believed in this dream, then he would not be hurt, and it was all true. But he was still desperately afraid.

Fear translated into his body’s lack of arousal, and he stilled in a fresh wave of terror. Glorfindel’s questing hand would reach lower, and find him lacking. What reaction it would provoke was something he could only guess at, and his breathing stuttered.

“You are so sweet,” Glorfindel purred, approving, breath hot against his cheek. “I have dreamed of this, _melindonya_ , so many nights. You, yielding and perfect beneath me.”

And with those words, he felt himself thaw. This dream was a wish, something Glorfindel had wanted so long ago, something which had given the warrior purpose. It was affirmation of the desire Glorfindel had confessed, and the knowledge eased him. He could feel his body responding to his lover’s touch, and Glorfindel gave a low growl of approval. “Open for me, _mîr nín_. Let me love you.”

It felt like a dream of his own, and if he pretended it was no more than that, he could respond as Glorfindel wanted. His pulse quickened, and his cock filled. The moan of desire which slipped past his lips was not feigned as thick fingers teased him into relaxing, and he trembled against the strong arm holding him so close.

“ _Melinyet_ ,” he whispered. In the safety of this dream, he could say such things aloud. “ _Ma melityen_?” It sounded right, in the language of their youth.

“Have I given you cause to doubt how I feel?” Glorfindel was so hot, so large as he sought entry. “ _Samit melmenya, tenn’oio_.”

Although the words gave him reassurance, and also stoked his desire, there was a reason Gildor had sought to retire early rather than indulging Glorfindel with more of their games, and he felt it now as he was breached. With so little lubrication too, there was actually pain, and Gildor froze, his hands gripping tight on the warrior’s forearm, which had somehow wound itself around his body like a restriction.

“Glorfindel,” he whispered, then catching his breath in response to the soreness, unable to help jerking away a little, even though his own cock was hard against his thigh now. It was too much.

“ _Avá levöar_ ,” Glorfindel whispered back urgently, “please, it feels so good…”

Gildor didn’t need the words, didn’t need to hear the pleasure in his beloved’s voice, or the insistent way Glorfindel continued; Gildor’s body relaxed just as Glorfindel wanted. They had been lovers too long now, it was instinctive, and yet the little moan Glorfindel gave was different. For the Glorfindel in the dream, this was the first time, and despite the danger Gildor felt his heart fill with tenderness.

“Touch me,” he said, breathing freely again, smiling with his eyes closed when Glorfindel obeyed him, one large rough hand curling around him. It was not quite the same, Gildor realised with a burst of pleasure. This Glorfindel was assured, yes, but not familiar, and that realisation somehow made his blood burn all the more.

The pain was still there, on the edges, but it was dwarfed by the bliss he felt.

“I love how you feel inside me,” he said, and was answered with a fervent kiss to his neck. One thing hadn’t changed at all, and that was obvious - Gildor knew he would come first, and quickly. His face burned with embarrassment afresh, but Glorfindel was so big. He’d barely begun to move, and yet he touched Gildor in all the right places, pressed against them, it was impossible to resist.

It was so clearly new for Glorfindel, or at least this Glorfindel, reaching out from so long ago in a dream. The pure delight the warrior took in their lovemaking was heady indeed, and he could only marvel at the way it felt new for him as well. He still felt embarrassed by the way he could not control his own response, but that sensation paled in comparison to the joy in Glorfindel.

“I will not last,” he confided, breathless with the way the warrior’s large hand engulfed him, and bewitched him. He barely registered the pain of each thrust, powerful and yet tender, much like the elf who moved him so inexorably to his pinnacle. He was feverish, his skin slick and moist, and he groaned as Glorfindel moved, deep within him.

Glorfindel nuzzled his ear. “Then do not try,” he growled. “Give yourself over to me.”

It took no more than the heated words, permission granted, and he felt himself tighten around Glorfindel’s magnificent cock. His own cock jerked in Glorfindel’s hot palm, and he smelled his own seed as it spilled over thick fingers, smearing against his belly. He was sure he cried out, hearing the night birds answer as a breeze soothed his damp brow. Glorfindel stilled within him, but he neither knew nor cared if the warrior had found his own completion.

“More now, _céva melindonya_ ,” Glorfindel said, beginning to move again, and Gildor could not even give a response. His body felt heavy and loose in Glorfindel’s embrace, though the warrior’s strength was such he probably didn’t even notice the difference.

“All of the tension in you is gone,” Glorfindel said. “I can feel it.”

It was true. Gildor could not even summon up the fear anymore. He was somewhere he was always meant to be, giving pleasure to Glorfindel, and he finally voiced a quiet moan that was more of a gentle mewl than anything. True to form, Glorfindel teased him, only now he was not a nightingale. To this Glorfindel, he was something else...

“ _Vinimëoinya_ ,” Glorfindel said, and Gildor pulled a face, wriggling a little, but that just amused his lover all the more. “Stay, kitten,” he admonished, just enough force behind the taunt to make Gildor freeze, remembering that Glorfindel was dreaming, and that at any moment he might decide Gildor was his enemy.

“I did not know you were so well behaved,” Glorfindel noted after a few leisurely movements. It seemed as if he could keep up the slow lovemaking all night. “Had I forbidden you to walk abroad, making your maps, perhaps I would have an easier job keeping you safe than following you around in secret.”

Gildor’s heart jumped a little. “You follow me?” he asked faintly, having had no idea of Glorfindel’s dedication. But he should have known. Glorfindel was nothing if not obsessive, and he knew that. He trembled at the demands upon his body, and found himself making more of those helpless sounds of exhausted pleasure.

“Of course. Do you think it is an accident that those wild bands of orcs do not trouble you overmuch?” A hint of pride crept in as Glorfindel’s movements became harder, more forceful. Gildor whimpered but took it, feeling that his lover was close now. “I am not always there to protect you, but I have despatched your enemies before now, and I will do it again!”

Gildor did not know what to say, but Glorfindel was not interested in conversation any longer. It occurred to him he would be even more sore in the morning than he had been when he went to his reverie. Lost in a dream as he was, Glorfindel had no recollection of their earlier activities. Gildor was past feeling it now, but morning would be another thing altogether.

“Do not be fretful, _vinimëoinya_. I know you like to make your maps,” Glorfindel said. Gildor was content to let Glorfindel interpret his silence in that manner. “I will not forbid it.”

And there it was again, Glorfindel’s possessive need to control him, to rein him in. He did not dare speak up now, but he would not let this go unremarked when Glorfindel was himself. “Well then.” He managed to keep his tone light. “I should be very flattered, then, to have such a powerful protector. I will have to find a way to thank you.”

“Oh, but you have, my talkative kitten. Now, still your tongue, and let me enjoy you. You are so sweet and tender.” Glorfindel’s pace remained leisurely, though, and Gildor began to despair the warrior would ever reach his pinnacle. Certainly, at this rate, it would be close to dawn.

It took a moment, but Gildor recalled one night, when he had simply closed around Glorfindel, unable to help himself. He had to think a bit, to properly recollect how it had felt, and then he tried to reproduce it, a rolling contraction of his passage around his lover’s thick cock. Glorfindel groaned, and pressed deeper, and he dared a small huff as he tried it again.

Then, again, Glorfindel groaned and thrust deep, turning his body in some slight way so that his bodyweight pinned Gildor effectively to the bed. After that, Glorfindel did not move at all.

“What game is this?” he asked, his voice low in Gildor’s ear.

Now the contractions of his body were not conscious and deliberate, but unstudied as he panicked at Glorfindel’s changed tone of voice. “G-game?” he repeated, fearing the warrior would accuse him of feigning again. He shivered, while Glorfindel almost growled in his ear, his hot breath there was a tease.

“I had not thought you as experienced as this,” Glorfindel considered. “Who else do you tempt, little mapmaker?”

“Tempt?” Really, he had to stop echoing Glorfindel’s words back at him, but Gildor was too afraid to think. He tried to think back to those times, so long ago to him now. He’d wanted Glorfindel, but had he taken any other lovers then? The only love affair he could remember had been that of new land to explore. “No one!”

“Hmm…” was Glorfindel’s answer, and there was a strange kind of warmth about it as he resumed the slow movement of before. Gildor felt his fear diminish, to be replaced by sudden anger.

“Not that it is any of your business,” he said, resentful, feeling angrier still when Glorfindel laughed.

“I was only teasing,” he said, “do not growl so!”

He was growling. Gildor stopped and drew in a breath. “It’s only fair,” Glorfindel pointed out, “since you teased me first with those little squeezes.”

“I suppose you have a point,” he conceded, but even he could hear the reluctance in his voice. “But I am an elf grown, and it should not be anyone’s business but mine.” He decided he liked his Glorfindel better than this dream version. His Glorfindel was possessive, but not quite so smug about it.

“I would not mind if all of Gondolin knew you were my lover.” Glorfindel spoke with perfect sincerity, his marvellous blue eyes wide and guileless in the moonlight. “I think many would envy me, Inglorion.”

Gildor felt his cheeks get warm, and knew he was blushing like a maiden.

“And there is my sweet virgin again. Have I told you how much I like your blushes, and the way your eyes get wide if you are startled out of whatever thoughts have carried you away?” Glorfindel smoothed a stray lock of hair from his forehead, the touch gentle and tender. “And now I find you have a roar after all, kitten. In a moment, will I be treated to your claws?”

“You are an infuriating tease,” Gildor retorted. “I may be the kitten to your lion, but even kittens grow up eventually.” He tried a glare, and earned another of Glorfindel’s rich chuckles. He let out a little scream, well muffled in the warm expanse of Glorfindel’s broad chest.

The teases were having the desired effect, or so he assumed. Without his noticing, Glorfindel’s movements had shifted again, becoming deeper, harder, and he felt a small tremble run through the warrior. If he was tender, he no longer noticed. Each sure thrust filled him beyond all understanding, and touched him as never before. This was a dream Glorfindel had before his fall, before he had travelled to Mandos’ Hall. How had he never noticed this before?

Again there was that little tremble of sensation, and Gildor encouraged it as much as he could, stretching and moaning. “Give it to me,” he whispered, as a demand. He was not sure if Glorfindel even heard him now, but when the warrior found release Gildor almost felt like it was his own.

He was pulled into a close cuddly embrace, and here Glorfindel seemed almost like himself. “What shall we do now?” Glorfindel queried, and Gildor’s eyes were already sliding closed.

“We sleep,” he said pointedly, “and you can go back to your own bed or stay here with me.” There was silence. He blinked and looked up, just as Glorfindel let out a quiet snore. Well, that answered the question then.

Glorfindel’s arms around him were like a prison he could not escape, and the warrior’s impressive biceps were hard beneath his head. Gildor yawned and managed to move enough to drag a soft pillow between them to rest upon. Then he slept too, until he was awoken in the morning by Glorfindel shaking him, distress evident on his face.

 

**Authors' Notes:**

Hello all :)

Firstly, we'd like to thank all of our readers, and those of you who have reviewed and left kudos on this story – you're all awesome and amazing! We hope you enjoyed this chapter too, and wanderingaddict, if you're reading this, there is a special chapter being written for you that involves Glorfindel dressing up in lots of strappy leather...

Those of you who follow my (pippychick) other stories might already be aware, but I'll explain briefly what is going on.

Some months ago, out of the blue, a nasty comment was left on another co-authored work of mine over and over again, by a logged in user. Here's a flavour of it (not the whole thing):

“ _After reading 23 chapters of this fucking fic[...] Here's A fucking reader enraged with what he read and he hates this fic to the core. Now, Have a fucking nice day.”_

Since the troll kept deleting their nastiness to hide it, I screencapped one of my notifications and posted it on my review board to reply (the _only_ time I've interacted with this user), in defence of my co-author, and because no one should be subjected to that in silence. I did not reciprocate; most of my words were longer than four letters. With that, I imagined it was all over, and it was, for a few months. Then an anon was sent to continue the trolling, following a nasty conversation about me on the other user's review board. The troll was also being all dramatic and playing the victim there, presumably because they didn't like being held responsible for their bad behaviour. At that point, I contacted ao3.

The abuse team are worse than useless. Despite the unprovoked nature of the attack, they hold me responsible. Just let that sink in a moment. I am being held responsible for vicious abuse that I couldn't prevent and couldn't predict. A warning was placed on my account. A warning which I appealed, and was denied. Not only that, but the abuse team flatly refuse to recognise that I am named, threatened, and defamed on this user's review board as of right now, forcing me to have a Cease and Desist notice sent to ao3.org/otw's registrant and administrator. Stunning, no?

I'm in the process of leaving Ao3 because I've decided not to accept that kind of trollish behaviour and victim blaming (and I do mean from the abuse team, the troll itself is neither here nor there really). I'm very sorry; I’d hoped to avoid it for this story, but recent developments make it impossible to continue posting anything here. This story will be continued, but on adult-fanfiction, where both BronxWench and I work as volunteers: http://lotr.adult-fanfiction.org/story.php?no=600081677

Please update your bookmarks.

If you would like a reminder when we update, please send your request to: a.slash.writer@gmail.com and I will let you know when new chapters are up.

Thank you for reading this far. We hope you will continue to enjoy the story in its new home. :)

I know. Hell of an update for Valentine's... however, last but not least, here is the elvish.

 

**Translations (Quenya):**

_Áva malatya melindo –_ Don't hurt your lover

_Melindonya –_ my lover

_Intyë –_ yourself 

_mîr nín –_ my treasure (Sindarin)

_Melinyet –_ I love you

_Ma melityen –_ Do you love me? 

_Samit melmenya, tenn’oio –_ You have my love, forever 

_Avá levöar –_ Don't move away

_céva melindonya –_ my new lover

_Vinimëoinya –_ my kitten (literally 'my baby cat')

**Author's Note:**

>  **Authors' Note:** Thank you for reading, we hope you are enjoying it. Please leave us a comment!
> 
>  
> 
> **Translations:**
> 
>  
> 
>  _aníra nín_ \- my desire
> 
>  _Matho nin sui mathog i vagol gîn_ \- Wield me as you wield a sword
> 
>  _I dhû hen and_ \- You’re in for a long night


End file.
